


Clean Slate, Blank Face

by Iship_lover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angelcest, Chuck is God, Dean has always been Michael, Dean is Michael, Identity Issues, M/M, Memory Loss, Michael!Dean, Multi, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 10:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 46,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2618690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iship_lover/pseuds/Iship_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer loses his memories when he crashed into Nick’s body. Without a purpose, he wanders across the world searching for pieces of his memories with the Winchesters and Castiel while Angels and Demons hunt them down. Alternate Season five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good God, ya'all

Where is he? The man scrambles to his feet. He appears to by lying face down on the side of a road. He blinks blearily, rubbing his face, the stubble scratching at his hand. Somehow, it felt wrong. His body is tight and constricts against him, making it hard to breath.

He stumbles, leaning against a tree. The man coughs, shaking his head.

Disoriented, He clutches at his hair, ignoring the stinging sensations on his feet. He realizes a second later that he is completely _nude_. No clothing on, _at all_. He panics a little before realizing that he does not truly care. He smooths down his hair and trudged along the dirt road.

The sun is baking, beating down on his neck. A human being can survive three days without water, his mind supplies. How long has he been here? Is it more than three days? He does not feel thirsty.

Now that he thinks about it, he is not sweating, either. He looks down at the gravel road, the sharp little rocks digging into his heels. There is blood on his feet, but the pain does not register. Is he in shock? He seems to know something about being in shock. The man with no name walked down the lonely country road.

Until a large, black car slammed into his back and sent him flying.

\------------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean you lost _Lucifer_?!” Dean shouts, throwing his hands up, pacing around the tiny, stuffy motel room. Castiel frowns at his response, tilting his head.

“His signature has disappeared. I cannot seem to track him, and no further Apocalyptic signs has appeared.” Castiel thinks back to Raphael’s rage, the last thing the Archangel said about Lucifer’s disappearance. The pain tearing through his grace and the slight, hopeful thought that Lucifer has given up the Apocalypse.

“Isn’t that a _good_ thing?” Sam looks up from packing their bags. They have stayed in this town for too long. The Angels hunting them will catch up if they do not run soon. Being hunted by Angels. A sentence Sam thought he would never say. But it is his fault, he thought darkly. If Sam did not let Lucifer out, none of this would have happened. If he had to point fingers, he would point to the moment Dean sold his soul to resurrect him.

“It’s _not_ a good thing!” Dean groans into his hands. “He could be looking for you right now!” He points to Sam. If the Devil gets his hands on Sam, then everything will end.

“I’m not going to say yes to _Lucifer_!” Sam shouts back, stung from the lack of trust. Not that Sam trusts himself particularly.

“You don’t know what he could do!”

“Why can’t you just _trust_ me for once!”

“The _last time_ I trusted you you let Satan out of his cage!”

Sam and Dean glared at each other, breathing heavily.

“We have to go.” Castiel interrupts the brothers. “My brothers will be here soon.” This is how they ended up driving down some dusty road to the middle of bumfuck, nowhereville, when Dean swerved and crashed into a naked guy walking down the middle of the road with a vacant expression on his face.

Sam screamed, Dean yells “Holy Shit!” And Castiel sat there, as nonchalant as ever while they rushed out to check if the naked(very, very naked) guy is still breathing, because they really don’t need vehicular murder on top of their impressive list of crimes against everything.

“Ow.” The naked guy opens his eyes, and Sam notices something really wrong. The naked guy is not injured. At all, except for small scrapes already closing up. And he is cold. Too cold to be human.

Castiel leaps onto the naked guy, sword by his throat. A small, choked sound escapes Dean’s throat.

“Lucifer.” Castiel hisses and Sam pulls his hand back. Too many questions weighed on his mind. Why is Lucifer here? Did he find them? Why is he _buck-ass naked_? His mind feels slightly scrambled and something doesn't quite add up right.

“What?!” Lucifer says, and Castiel presses his sword further into his throat, a foot on his chest. Dean makes a gurgling noise at the sight. “Get away from me!”

The man- Lucifer says. How did they know his name? Is that even his name? He vaguely recollects something about Sunday school and Satan. Why are they calling him Satan? He feels slightly insulted.

The sword stings against his throat, but it’s sensation all right. More than he’s felt all day. He blinks up at the guy in the suit.

 _“What!”_ Lucifer yells, pushing the man off him. The other guy behind him catches trenchcoat sword guy, glaring at him. Floppy hair stares down at him, and he promptly covers himself up. Dean pulls Sam away from Lucifer.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“I do not know,” Castiel keeps his eyes trained on the fallen Archangel, who is pushing himself up and brushing away the dirt on him, one hand still covering himself.

“He doesn’t seem like the Devil to me.” Sam twists and looks. “Could just be another Angel.” Castiel shakes his head.

“No other Angel has grace that burns cold. This is _Lucifer_.”

“We don’t happen to have anything that can kill him, right?” Dean asks, eyes trained warily on the naked man, who is leaning against his baby- Castiel shakes his head.

“Get your naked ass away from my _baby!_ ” Dean shouts. Lucifer looks down, covering his behind with another hand, and leans back against the car again. Dean seethes.

“Dean!” Sam pulls him back. “What do we do about amnesic Satan there?”

“He does not seem to remember me. Or any of you.” Castiel agrees.

“Or he could just be lying.” Dean argues.

“Why would he need to lie?! If this is Amnesic Lucifer, then maybe we could convince him to _stop the Apocalypse_.” Sam points to the guy, who is still completely naked and lying on top of the impala. Dean proceeds to leap towards him, which ended up with Sam and Castiel holding him back.

And this is how Sam ended up sitting in the back seat with Lucifer while his shirt covers some parts they really don’t want to see again.


	2. Devil's in the Details

The car ride is as stifling and boring as any car ride could be. It’s not like Lucifer has much memories of car rides to begin with. Well, it’s not like he has _any_ memories at all.

“Is my name _really_ Lucifer?” He asks the tall, uncomfortable man besides him. The guy in the trenchcoat- Castiel, his name is Castiel, called him Lucifer. What kind of parent names their kid Lucifer, anyways?

“Uh...” Sam glances helplessly at Dean, who starts to whistle Metallica. Damn it.

“You _are_ Lucifer.” Castiel injects roughly, flapping his wings so that he ends up squashed between Lucifer and Sam. Sam yelps, jumping up a little. Lucifer backs against the door and Dean stomps on the brake, screeching to a stop.

“Holy shit Cas give a guy a _warning_!” Dean shouts from the front seat, “Baby better not be scratched!”

 

Lucifer stares at Castiel. The Angel stares back.

“You- you just teleported.” He says weakly.

“I am an Angel of the Lord. I _flew_.” Castiel did not understand Lucifer’s reaction. Surly the older Archangel knew the basics of flying. At least he should be able to feel his wings.

“I...really am the _Devil_?!” Lucifer sounds a little high pitched. He presses further against the door.

“Yeah, you are-” Dean interrupts. “Cas, get back to the front seat. Can we all just let me drive in peace?!” He ignores Castiel’s disgruntled look, opting to turn the music up as loud as he could.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Lucifer says, eyes wide and staring into space.

 

“It’s not that bad?” Sam offers, patting his back awkwardly. This is definitely not how he expected his first meeting with Lucifer to go. Ever since Castiel told him about how Sam was meant to be Lucifer’s vessel, Sam imagined the Devil coming to him, forcing him in some way or the other to say the big yes.

 

Lucifer shifts uncomfortably and Sam pats him again, for good measure, before shifting in his seat. Lucifer shuffled away from the guy- Sam. He taps his feet nervously, looking out of the window as the fields passed buy. How should he react? It’s not every day you wake up and find out that you are _Satan_. The Devil. He is _the_ Devil. He glances at the other occupants of the car. Sam avoids looking at him, Dean- the driver clenches his hands around the wheel, and the Angel- Castiel is as blank as ever.

The Devil, an Angel, and two humans sit in a car. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. Lucifer chews at his lips. Why should he just believe what they said? Random strangers who ran him over and kidnapped him. Maybe they are all just crazy. Maybe he is going insane.

Lucifer closes his eyes, trying to will himself to wake up from this nightmare. He opens his eyes again. Still in the car. Besides, despite how much he wants to deny it, Lucifer could see their point. He did not sweat. He is not thirsty despite not drinking anything. He is not hungry, and the car crash did not even leave a scratch on him. He groans, voice muffled by the classic rock blaring out of the car stereo, holding his face in his hands and pulling on short blond hair. It’s unfair. Lucifer thinks. Why does it have to be him.

He tries to reconcile himself with the image of pure evil people has conjured up, bitter taste in his mouth. He's never felt so lonely before,  condemned by something he did not even remember doing. He can feel it in the air, too. Sam, the large man that keeps shooting him wary looks. Dean, who is obviously against having him here in the first place. And Castiel, the Angel. What makes him an Angel? The good guy? Castiel tried to kill him. That was probably justified. Sam pats his back, the gesture lingering on his skin.

 

“Hey Cas-” Dean says loudly from the front seat. “Any luck finding the big upstairs guy yet?” He asks, attempting to cut through the tension in the car. Driving like this is pretty damn uncomfortable.

 

God. Lucifer thought weakly. If he existed then God must exist. And Heaven. And Hell and Angels and _everything_ in between. The _sheer scope_ of all this crashes down upon him, and he felt another wave of resentment at the world around him. _Let it burn._

“No. I cannot find him. Not yet.” Castiel glances back at Lucifer’s still form. He knows that he should stay, to keep an eye on the fallen Archangel, but he itched to search for his missing father, to do something against the oncoming Apocalypse. Castiel had been hopeful, that Lucifer’s missing memories will halt the war, but it does not seem so. Heaven and Hell pushed against each other, eager to end things once and for all. And when, when, not if Lucifer gains his memories back then he would turn on them as well. Castiel should go. The sooner he finds God, the better.

 

 

“Take this.” He stuffs Uriel’s blade in Dean’s pocket. “I need to leave. Now.” Dean stops, and looks down at the silver sword quizzically. If he takes the sword, then Cas will be unarmed. “I have my own.” Castiel whispers against the music. “Take this, in case.” The Hunter and the Angel shares a glance. Just in case Lucifer goes Apocalyptic on them. The sword would probably not do much good against him, but it’s heavy weight is as reassuring as it could be.

With a nod, Castiel disappears to the sound of wings against the wind. Dean starts up the car again, ignoring Sam’s inquiring gaze at the sword.

He doesn’t know what kind of weird kinship thing they have going on in the backseat, Dean does not trust Lucifer, memory loss or not.

Lucifer leans back on the leather seat, determined to not let the hurt from seeing the exchange bleed into his face. Of course they are not going to trust him. He is the Devil, after all. No matter what, evil is in his nature.


	3. On the Wings of War

They pull up into the town, stopping at a broken bridge just outside. “Looks like we’re walking, boys.” Dean sighs loudly. Bobby called him just earlier, Rufus calling him about a particular hunt. An abandoned town, it seems. And Demons. Sam rifles through his back pack, pulling out some of his clothes and hoping that it would be enough.

“Can’t have him wandering around completely naked.” He whispers to Dean, who scowls and refuses to let Lucifer wear his clothes, which would probably fit him better.

“Don’t I get anything to protect myself with?” Lucifer asks, looking around as he pulls on Sam’s clothing, hiking up the pants that are threatening to fall off. At least he has clothes on.

“No!” Dean glares. “You can protect yourself just fine.”

“Dean!” Sam chides, and hands Lucifer a knife. Not Ruby’s knife, just a regular knife, but the sight of Lucifer with a knife sends shivers down Dean’s spine. He could just imagine that guy stabbing them in the back as soon as the first Demon bows down to him.

“Since when are you so _chummy_ with Satan?” Dean hisses at Sam, grabbing his arm and pulling him away while Lucifer trips over his pants legs in the background.

“He seems pretty harmless!” Sam whispers back, Lucifer desperately trying to untangle himself from Sam’s shirt. Dean glares at him.

“Don’t forget _who_ he is, Sammy.” Sam has a tendency to sympathize with _monsters_. Dean can see no way this is ending in anything else but a world of hurt for all of them.

“Don’t forget that he’ll wear you to prom as soon as he gets his memories back.” “What if we can help him change his mind somehow?!” Sam lowers his voice.

“Dean, _please_ \- we can _save_ the world this way!” For the first time in a long time, Sam has hopes. Lucifer has no memories. If he manages to gain his trust, and show Lucifer that humanity is worth saving, then everything could go _right_ for once. Sam is also selfish. He thinks that if the _Devil_ could be redeemed, then there has to be hope for a monster like _Sam_ , right?

“I’m trying to look out for you!” Dean raises his voice.

“You need to trust me to look out for myself, Dean!” Sam points to himself, anger bubbling in his stomach. “Look what happened last time I trusted you!” Dean points to Lucifer.

“You-” “Should I just go?” Lucifer inches away from the brothers.

“No!” Both Winchesters turns to Lucifer, who raised his hands, backing away from them, eyebrows raised.

“We go in guns blazing, and we hunt the Demons. Got it?” Dean barks, breathing hard after the argument. Fighting with Sam is always hard. But he has to do it. It is his job to protect Sam, from himself if necessary. Lucifer is an dangerous addition to their group, and the rift he seems to put through him and Sam just makes Dean more determined to prove that Lucifer is not as curable as Sam seems to think.

 

“Watch out for black eyes,” Sam turns to Lucifer and warns him. There is a connection between then, he thinks. He ignores the implications of him being a vessel for Lucifer.

“Black eyes?”

“Demons. They have black eyes. Regular Demons, anyways.”

“Black eyes. Right.” Lucifer shuffles awkwardly, holding the knife. It’s too short and small for his hands. He eyes the sword Dean is holding, feeling the slight hum of power from the blade. He is the Devil, right? The why does he not have black eyes, then?

“Shouldn’t I have black eyes, then?” He turns to Sam. Lucifer feels more comfortable around Sam than he is around Dean. There is just something about Dean that bothers him. He is too warm, and the air around him burns.  

“Technically...” Sam falls besides Lucifer, unnerved by how easy it is to interact with him. “You are an Angel. Fallen, but still an Angel.”

 

Angel, yes. Lucifer remembers. An Angel- somehow, having someone acknowledge that he is something other than evil feels good. It makes him feel like he could keep going.

 

“Angel my ass.” Dean commented sourly, a step in front of his brother and Lucifer, and Lucifer stops in his tracks, a stab of pain searing through his mind. Dean’s words overlapped with a voice, a voice he just wants to reach out to, to grab and hold and lose himself too.

 _You’re a monster, Lucifer_. The voice says, vibrating through the air, pushing him _down_ and away and he couldn’t breathe. The sun is too bright behind his eyelids. He keeps them shut, the orange glow piercing his sight, his head pounding to sounds of lost memories. Something is blocking him, and pain explodes again and again in his mind.

 

“Lucifer? Lucifer!” Sam spins around in surprise after Lucifer falls to the ground, clutching his head and groaning. Sam is surprised, at the sheer amount of distress he felt at Lucifer’s pain. Sam is attached, Lucifer a magnet pulling him closer and closer. Seeing him in danger tugs at something inside Sam. All he wants to do is be by his side, take away his pain. The strength of these feelings are overwhelming. Sam sinks down to his knees by Lucifer’s side, hand on his shoulder. He can leave the self-evaluation for later.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean runs over. Hey, what he said was true. Lucifer is no Angel, if it took so much bloodshed to just raise him out of Hell. He never really expected such a reaction. Sam rushes to Lucifer’s side and a bitter taste fills Dean’s mouth. Seeing Sam so close to Lucifer

( _Seeing someone else touching his little brother)_ \- Dean blinks the weird thoughts out of his head.

 

“He just dropped, man-” Sam pulls Dean down, pressing a hand to Lucifer’s chest. His heart is still beating, but it’s just the vessel’s heart. The Angel inside could be hurt. Lucifer groans, tilting his head, and Sam feels a flood of relief(he really need some self-evaluation later.

 

 

It was war. In the end, it was _war_ the fabled horseman of the Apocalypse who did this, turn an innocent town upon one another, making people believe that the others they slaughtered were Demons. Dean toys with the ring in his hand.

A man breaks down- he killed his wife, his child.

“You thought they were _Demons_.” Sam says, “It’s not your fault.”

Dean wants to point to Lucifer and say that all this is exactly _his_ fault. It’s because of them that the whole town is covered in blood and that all these innocent people cannot live their lives in blissful ignorance anymore.

 

“How did War get out if _you_ didn’t get him out?” Dean questions Lucifer.

“I don’t know.” Lucifer knew something was up with the guy as soon as he saw him. He radiated some sort of unknown energy, hungry and powerful and it sets him on edge. He winks at Lucifer, as if knowing _something_ he doesn’t.

He pulls Sam and Dean away from the survivors into a corner, voicing his suspicions.

Dean doubts what Lucifer said at first. Turns out he was right. Whatever, he scowls at the ground. That doesn’t mean the Devil is playing for their field now. Sam trusts too easily, but Dean knows that some day, sooner or later, the other shoe will drop, and Lucifer will show his true colors. There is a tension in the car after they drive off.

Meeting Lucifer has stirred something in his mind, something decidedly unnatural, like someone blew the dust off long locked memories. He keeps this development from Sam, opting instead to turn the music up and drive.


	4. take a howl at the moon

Castiel flits into a Church in a small town, sunlight streaking across the stained glass. The Angel looks up at the figure of his father. The humans describes him as an old man in a white robe. He supposes that a face is better than none. God’s true face is too loud and bright even for the Angels to comprehend, just like how only select humans can see an Angel’s true face, only the Archangels have seen what their father truly looks like.

Castiel glances around the Church at the sermon, keeping himself shielded from human sight. The Angels here are drawn with delicate features and large, bird like wings sprouting from their backs. They could not be more wrong. Castiel himself is as tall as some of the largest buildings here, his many wings reflecting the elements. His body is light and frequency. And he is just a regular, some might say ‘ _garden-variety’_ Angel.

The pastor on the stage blesses the crowd. Castiel casts his glance upon their souls. The majority of the souls are good, some tarnished, but there can be no life without sin. Some are brighter than others, the souls of children burned like small stars. Life will gradually wear them down. Put marks upon them, but they will be no less beautiful. Souls are wondrous things, and Dean’s soul is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Castiel pieced it together bit by bit, infusing his grace into the deep crevices that he cannot fix, and, in return, small pieces of Dean’s soul in-bedded themselves into Castiel’s grace. Dean has his mark on Castiel, much like how Castiel has his mark on Dean.

“Do you believe in Angels?” He manifests before the priest in a sudden bout of bravery. The man squawks, spinning around to face Castiel. The Angel tilts his head. Humans seem to like that motion.

“Wha- Wha-?” The man stutters, hands reaching up to the white band in his collar. Castiel manifests his wings, and the priest drops to his knees in surprise.

“There is no need to fear me. You are a man of God, and I have questions for you.”

“My God.” The priest breathes, leaning weakly against the wall. “My God.” “You are a good man.” A righteous man. Castiel could see the mark on his soul. The mark of Azrael rests upon his soul like a heavy cloud, disguising the purity beneath it. His soul is remarkably blemish-less, and Castiel hopes that it remains this way. Castiel has hoped that his father would be somewhere near here. He’s heard of the recent small miracles that cropped up from time to time in this seemingly small and forgettable town. Dean’s pendant remains cool against his chest, and his heart sinks. It seems that his father does not want to be found. With a heavy heart, Castiel wipes the man’s memories and shielded himself yet again.

 

“Annael.” He nods once, appearing before his fallen sister. It is rare, almost unheard of, for a fallen Angel to gain their grace back once more. Annael was the exception. She was his garrison leader, once. Strong, silent and powerful and he holds much respect for her.

“Hello, Castiel.” She says, hidden from the humans she is watching.

“You are interfering with their lives.”

“I am saving people, Castiel.” Anna turns to her younger brother, seeing the taints in his grace. Small, gray cracks in the white-blue light and her heart aches. Falling will be a painful experience, one that she hopes Castiel will never experience.

“We are supposed to observe.”

“I’ve abandoned my posts long ago, Castiel. Are you still searching for God?” Castiel nods. Anna shakes her head.

“I’m sorry, brother. Our father is not here.” Castiel looks down in disappointment. He is losing his will, fast. Everywhere he goes all he gets in return is the increasingly loud voice in his mind saying that _God_ has abandoned them all, the Angels, the Humans, the realm itself.

“Lucifer was with you. I can feel his grace on you.” Castiel frowns, wiping away the remnants of Lucifer’s grace on him.

“Thank you, sister.”

“Don’t thank me, brother.” Annael turns her face towards Castiel, hair too red in the sun. “Lucifer’s grace is bound by something. Something more powerful than an Archangel.”

“What do you mean, _bound_?” Castiel asks, the sudden spring of hope welling up in his head. Annael shakes her head.

“I do not know, brother. But I can feel it. It’s a binding sigil. Lucifer should not be able to do much with his powers except for self defense. This is good news, brother.”

“Yes, good news.” Castiel thinks. Only two beings in all of creation can bind an Archangel so effortlessly like that. He has more hope than he has for the last few weeks combined.

“Good luck, Castiel.” Annael says softly, turning her attentions back on the humans.

“Thank you, sister. I understand.” He takes flight.

 

“Hello, Sister.” The priest appears before the Angel with the sound of wings.

“Azrael.” Anna tenses. “What do you want.”

“Oh, to thank you and Castiel for helping me find my vessel, that is all.” The elderly man shrugs, snapping up a black suit. “The game has changed, after all.”

 

* * *

 

The Archangel and the human stares at each other awkwardly without Sam acting as a filter between them. Dean coughs lightly, looking at his brother’s sleeping form. Sam needs rest for all the things he went through, but Dean remains restless, unable to sleep. His body is irritatingly warm, but, nope, no fever. Bottom line, Dean has no idea what is wrong with him and he is stuck with the Devil while Sam snores away, dead to the world.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Dean asks Satan. Freakin' Satan. God this is weird.

 “Can’t seem to.” Lucifer answers. He wants to sleep, truthfully. Sleeping seems like a nice thing to do. And now he is stuck with Dean in the land of the waking. Dean makes him uncomfortable in the strangest ways.

 

“I’m grabbing a drink.” Dean tells Lucifer, grabbing his coat on the way out. Thankfully, they are in a relatively large town/city hybrid thing and it has plenty of bars. A bar crawl seems like a great idea right about now. Lucifer tilts his head at him in a way that reminds him of Cas, and superimposing the two Angels on one another is just weird as fuck. 

"top staring at me, man.” Dean walks out the motel room. Lucifer follows him across the awful pink floral print carpets.

“Dude! Stop following me!” Dean throws his hands up in the lounge, getting various curious looks from the motel staff.

“Why not?” Lucifer grins and Dean groans.

“Fine, you can come with me on the bar crawl. Should be easier to get drunk with you around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azrael is Death.


	5. Dance in the Dark

“What is a bar crawl?” Lucifer asks. So many things seem unfamiliar to him now, foreign, even. Yet others are familiar. It confuses him. The only constants in his short time of actually remembering anything is Dean and Sam and the impala.

“Luce.” Dean places a hand on his shoulder and Lucifer jumps a little, feeling a spark course through his body. “You have much to learn, young Padawan.” Lucifer frowns.

“I don’t-”

“That’s it.” Dean says. No matter how much he dislikes the Devil, he has a _duty_ to that poor man. “We, are going to have so much fun.”

Alcohol, Lucifer finds, is a strange, strange thing. Dean seems to open up with more and more of the substance in his system. The liquids are warm and slides down his throat with a slight burn. After a few drinks at the first bar, Lucifer declares that he prefers the cocktail drinks with bright colors and paper umbrellas better than the amber liquids Dean is downing shot by shot. Dean scoffs and calls him a girl.

“I don’t see why these drinks would make me female?” Lucifer cups his face in confusion. The girl besides him snorts, almost choking on her drink.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean’s says, eyes drifting to her chest.

“Don’t bother, big boy,” She grins, leaning over Lucifer to face Dean. “You’re not my type.”

“I can be you’re type any day,” Dean purrs, winking.

“Fraid you have the wrong equipment there, _buddy_.” She laughs, sauntering out of the bar.

“Damn.” Dean whistles. He does not seem displeased at being ‘shot down.’ Lucifer orders another drink, a different one, this time. The glass is tall and the pink liquid is fizzing and fruity. He likes it. “Dude, what’s up with you and girly drinks?” Dean scoots over.

“I like the _taste_.” Lucifer glances around the bar at the other patrons. People are so strange, different. He can almost see into them, into their souls and see their secrets, everything good and everything bad and something ugly stirs inside him. He wants to _burn_ them all. He blinks, shaking that thought away, gulping down his drink in one fluid motion.

“No one drinks for the _taste_ , my man.” Dean pats his back, words slurring and hand heavy. They were at their third bar already, with more drinks than they could count in their system.

“Then why do they drink?” Dean snorts.

“To forget, mostly.”

“Is that why _you_ drink?”

“God, no!” Dean laughs, looking uncomfortable. “Let’s talk about something else. Sam? Lets talk about Sam. What do you think of Sammy?” Dean fires off the questions. Lucifer thinks. The alcohol is a warm buzz in his veins, making his head slightly heavy and his tongue too big for his mouth. What does he think about Sam.

“He’s- he’s” Lucifer slurs “ _Cold_.” He blinks. “ _Nice_ an’ cold. I _like_ the cold.” He tugs the collar of his shirt- well, Sam’s shirt. The smell of it is strong, and it smells like Sam, and Lucifer’s face flushes a little.

“Weird.” Dean sprawls against the counter, ordering another drink."Sounds like Luci's got a crush!" Dean laughs to himself. “Sammy’s my _baby bro_ , man. I gotta look out for him. Gotta s-save him.”

“My brother never tried to save me.” Lucifer blurts out without even thinking, something in him constricting tightly, so much that it hurts. “He _hates_ me.”

“Your _brother_?” Dean sits up. “You remember?” The thought of Lucifer gaining his memories back is like a bucket of cold water to his head.

“N-not much-” Lucifer’s head is spinning now, like a dam threatening to overflow. “Some things. Maybe. A little.”

“What do you remember?” Dean grabs Lucifer by his shoulders, dragging them out of them bar and eliciting strange glances from the other patrons. The early morning air chills him to the bone and Lucifer takes to it like a nature, breathing in the freezing air, letting his lungs expand.

“Nothing much.” He rubs his head, the front of his mind throbbing with pain. “A name, I think. _Michael_.” Dean’s eyes widens for a fraction of a second.

“Oh.” He coughs into his hand. “That’s rough, buddy.” He directs Lucifer to the next bar down the road in the particularly seedy street. Hell’s belles, the red neon lights blinked on and off, a small drawing of a cartoonish Devil on the front door.

“Hope you feel right at home here!” Dean jokes, the laugh not reaching his voice. He is shaken by their previous encounter. Lucifer orders another drink, this one bright red. It burns his tongue, hard and harsh and his vision swims for a second. The duo stumble out of the bar, clutching on to each other for support.

 

Dean wakes up to Sam slapping his face and rocks digging into his ass.

 

“Huh?” He groans, rubbing his eyes, the pounding headache in his brain getting worse by the second.

“Dean! Wake up!” Sam drags Dean up, hauling him into the impala.

“M’ got a _headache_.” Dean mumbles, clutching his head and leaning against the window, the cool glass not doing anything to help. Sam makes a face.

“Your own fault, Dean.” He comments and Dean sticks up his middle finger. He is an adult and can damn well drink as much as he want to without Sammy making a bitchface at him.

“Whatever, bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam drives off with his brother besides him, heading off to a new town. Just like they used to, before this whole Apocalypse thing came about. Talking about the Apocalypse-

“Hey, Dean, do you have the feeling that we forgot something?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean cranes his neck, peeking into the back seat. The empty back seat. Shit.

“I think we forgot Lucifer.” Sam opens his mouth, but the loud, familiar ringing of mullet rock blasting from Dean’s phone cut off anything he was about to say.

 

“Hello, _Deano_ ,” A sultry voice calls out, giggling. Dean fumes, knowing exactly who this is. The fact that it sounded like that girl from the bar unnerved him. Was that Meg or did she possess her?

“Meg.” He growls at the Demon. “What the hell do you want?”

“ _Well_.” Meg inspects her fingernails, head tilting to one side, catching the cell phone between her ear and her shoulder. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, Dean. Imagine how I felt when I found out you snapped the wings of my _father_.”

She glances wistfully to Lucifer, tied to the seat of the truck with various Angel binding sigils all over him. She was not quite sure if they can bind an Archangel, but Lucifer remains all tied up and passed out with blood on his face, so she can say safely that they work.

“Damn you.” Dean growls, feeling a surge of red hot anger rise up in him, spreading to the rest of his body. The air around him heats up and the insistent buzzing noise grows louder. The hangover headache is all but forgotten. “You let him go.”

“If I do that, who’s gonna keep this fight going?” Meg laughs, sharp and loud. “Toodles, Deano. Catch me if you can!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated! :)


	6. This thing we left behind

“Shit!” Sam swears after hearing the exchange, slamming the breaks and parking on the side of the road. They tumble out, Dean leaning against the sleek black car with his head in his hands.

“What the hell Sammy?!”

“Do you know where Lucifer is?” Sam panics a little. Lucifer could have gained his memories back and ran away to set fire on the world again. And after all this time, Sam finds that he really doesn’t want to treat Lucifer like an enemy again.

“Shit. No.” Dean thinks back. The night blurs into a cacophony of colors and sounds and not much else.

“Meg got him, I think.” Meg is one of those ‘Lucifer loyalist Demons’ right? Means that she would at least try _not_ to kill him.

“What do we do?” Sam asks, frustrated. “How did you manage to get Lucifer kidnapped!”

 

“I was drunk! We call Cas.”

Castiel abandons his search immediately, flying over to Sam and Dean. Lucifer, despite all he has done was still his brother and Castiel could remember the time when he was newly made and all the younger angels will flit to Lucifer for his light was so bright.

“Where is he? What happened?” Castiel asks, stretching his grace to search for Lucifer. Even with his powers bound Lucifer should still glow like a beacon to him, being an Archangel, now that Castiel has come into contact with him.

“I cannot sense him, there must be sigils on him that hides him away.” Castiel says, frustrated that he cannot help.

 

“So what do we do?” Sam asks, with the usual concerned puppy dog look on his face and Dean thinks that maybe Sam is getting a little too close to Lucifer. Definitely _too close_. Dean should intervene.

“I do not know.” Castiel shakes his head.

“Well, I know someone who could help.”

 

 

Bobby was, as they have predicted, rightfully enraged.

“Why didn’t none of you ever thought about telling me about, oh, living with _Lucifer_ for the past two days?!” Sam and Dean looked down at their feet.

“Lucifer has been relatively harmless-” Bobby gave the Angel such a withering glare that even Castiel shut up for a bit.

“How did you even meet?” Bobby sighs, setting down a glass of cheap whiskey.

“Uh...” Sam looks to Dean, his brother sharing the exact same uncomfortable facial expression. Dean, as predictable as ever, lost the paper scissors rock competition. Sam feels a little smug as Dean swore under his breath and Bobby raises his eyebrows.

“I hit him with the impala.” Dean confesses. “In my defense, he was naked at the time. And Amnesic. Still amnesic right now, actually.”

“Naked?” Bobby asks, the morbid curiosity getting to him.

“Like, completely naked.” Dean waved his hands up and down.

Sam coughs, trying to not think about Lucifer lying down on the gravel, all bleary and looking at Sam and the sun shining down and how his body is all glowing in the light- Nope. He is not going to pop a confused fallen Archangel induced boner here. If Dean found out Sam would _never_ live it down. Ever. Lucifer had that confused little stare, and his eyes are pretty damn blue.

Not like Castiel blue, more like a lighter, _icy_ blue- Sam pinches himself. He will definitely have a talk with his brain later. There is a time and place for sudden self evaluation about a definitely unwanted attraction to the devil. And it’s not the body, either. Because if it is just the body then he could just say that Lucifer picked a damn _hot_ vessel and be done with it.

Nope, it’s also the way he _acted_ , his goddamn _personality_ so different to what Sam has expected, but it all has to come to an end. Because whoever that was that Sam has these feelings on, it’s not Lucifer. It’s a guy with no memories at all that woke up to the impala crashing into his backside and being told by an Angel that he is the Devil. The real Lucifer would probably just laugh at Sam and use his attraction as a way to get him to say yes. It would be better for them all if Sam just stops thinking about him that way.

“-Sam?” Dean waves a hand in front of his face and Sam jerks a little, jumping back into the real world.

“Huh?” Sam jumps, blinking at Dean and Castiel’s sudden confused look.

“You okay there, boy?” Bobby asks.

“He was thinking about my _brother_ naked.” Castiel blurts out, like’s just something normal to say in the middle of any conversation. Dean’s falls out of his chair, ass in the air. Bobby spits the whiskey across the table, clutching at the edges of the wood, wheezing with laughter. Sam gave a choked squeak, face burning red. Castiel tilts his head and frowns.

“Oh my God Cas you can’t just say something like that in the middle of a conversation-” Dean laughs, slapping his knee and leaning on Sam.

“Do not blaspheme, Dean.” Castiel says, all neutral and serene and slightly disapproving and Dean laughs even harder. Sam turns so red that he would put a tomato plant to shame.

“D-does that mean I have to give the Devil the shovel talk?” Dean’s face is as red as Sam’s, from laughter rather than embarrassment.

“Dean!” Sam protests.

 

“Anyways, do you have any way to find him?” Sam turns to Bobby, who has, fortunately, calmed down. Bobby grunts, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

“Can’t your Angel here help?” Bobby turns to Castiel, pointedly pushing the image of Sam, who is something of a son to him, lusting after Satan himself out of his mind. Castiel shakes his head.

“There are ‘angel-proofing’ sigils, I believe. I cannot sense him. Lucifer’s power is bound-”

“Wait, his powers are bound?” Dean frowns, pulling a chair up and sitting down. “How?”

“I do not know.” Castiel chews on his bottom lip, shrugging helplessly in the human gesture. “I believe out Father may have something to do with it.”

“You mean our father who art not Heaven? That one?” Bobby asks, pouring shots for him, Dean and Sam. They would probably need it, if the conversations are going the way they are. Castiel nods.

“Why would God bind Lucifer’s powers?” Sam questions, looking up at Castiel. Castiel shrugs again.

“Maybe he wants Lucifer to _learn a lesson_.” Dean tells them. Castiel sucks in a breath, eyeing Dean like he has never seen him before. It was the way he worded it, the way he said it. Castiel was frightened for a moment there. In that small window of time, Dean sounded like _Michael_ , and his vessel’s heart almost burst out of his chest. He pokes at Dean with his grace, finding no trace of Michael’s power, nothing strange except for a small warm mark curled up deep in his soul, _nothing_ strange considering Dean is Michael’s vessel. Castiel forces himself to calm down.


	7. Say it ain't so

“Hello there, Father.”

Lucifer blinks awake to black eyes bearing down at him, something like pity and sadness and incredible amounts of love shining through them. The girl- a ‘meatsuit’ he reminded himself, sighs sadly at his confusion.

“What have they done to you, _father_?” She asks, her fingers lightly touching his face in an almost reverent way. Lucifer backs away in disgust. There is just something about this creature that makes him want to shrink back into his skin or lash out with rage, there issomething dirty and wrong and ultimately human about her.

“I will break the bindings _they_ put on you,” She says, almost giddily. “And restore you to your former _glory_.”

“I’d rather not.” Lucifer tells the(Obviously crazy) Demon. “I like it this way.” As much as Lucifer would like actually remembering most of his life, he imagined that it was probably not good. Most likely not good, given that he is known as Satan/The Devil/The ultimate Evil by most of humanity. Humanity can go screw itself, Lucifer thinks bitterly. But he is still wary of regaining his memories. He knows that there will be baggage, lots of it that comes with his forgotten past. Maybe being a blank slate like this is a blessing in disguise.

“We will win, father.” The Demon grins, taking out a bottle of tequila.

“Want any?”

“I think I’ve had my fill.” Lucifer answers dryly.

“Suit yourself.” Meg takes a long gulp and sighs, swaggering out of the room. She, and her father, Azazel- they worked so hard to finally release their creator, Lucifer, yet the Winchesters still defeated them, capturing Lucifer and turning him into a shadow of what he should have been. Lucifer is their God, Hell’s creator and savior. That fact is pounded into her mind ever since Azazel took her in as a fresh, young Demon. Meg is lucky, to have Lucifer’s General choose her as his child.

Her father is dead, and now, it is up to Meg to restore Lucifer to his rightful place. Because the man there, the one bound by the crude bindings she scrawled in blood, the one who did not even fight back properly when she approached him- that man is not Lucifer, not her father’s God. He is the man warming Lucifer’s seat. And when she does bring him back, she will be rewarded. Meg smiles, twirling her borrowed brown hair between her fingertips. Yes. This is a game she could play.

 

Lucifer sleeps. It’s such a strange, deplorably human thing to do. The binding sigils tingles against his skin, it’s constant presence itchy and uncomfortable. He wants to, needs to move, to feel the wind against his skin. He shifts, the chair tilting. The least she could have done is untie him. Lucifer thinks of Sam and Dean. The people who found him. Castiel, the Angel. His brother. Castiel is his brother. This is all so surreal.

He falls asleep, the rope leaving burns on skin that is not his, and wakes up in a garden maze. The sky above his head is endlessly blue, like someone has taken a paintbrush and painted the skies with every blue they can find. His feet is bare against the soft tickle of grass on the palms of his feet. The ropes are gone, the bindings no longer there. Lucifer breathes, looking around him.

Tall hedges rises up all around him, a deeper green compared to the light grass. It’s a maze of emerald leaves, and Lucifer follows the hidden paths. It’s his own dream yet he is hopelessly lost. If this is real life then hours have passed and yet the sky is still blue and the sun did not move from it’s previous spot in the sky. A phantom ache crawls up his legs, making him want to stop.

Lucifer reaches a turn, bumping into a man with brown hair and kind eyes in a tailored suit and there is just something about him that makes him want to fall to his knees and sing his praises and punch him and kick andd scream.

“Oh-” He says, the man turning and smiling at him, eyes crinkling, mouth tugging his beard up. This is God, Lucifer thought numbly, and wonders if he will not live to wake up again. In the stories, no matter how charismatic or tragic or resonating the Devil is, God _always_ wins, and life is just another story.

Lucifer does not want to die. Not many people want to die, really. His life has been so short, in terms of memories he made and Lucifer wants to ask God to let him go back and make more memories, with the hunter that likes classic rock and classic cars, and the tall man with long, floppy hair that lets him borrow his clothes and has a smile like the sun.

“I am sorry,” God says, and Lucifer stares. This. This is surreal. The man is God and he is sure of it, but why is he apologizing to him? What could a God be sorry for? Lucifer wakes up before the dream could finish, gasping for breath, his heart pounding against his ribcage. It was real, he was sure of it- but the sheer absurdity of it made him feel like he just escaped death, and perhaps he did. Maybe God was going to kill him after all.

 

* * *

 

Meg drags him off into a truck she stole, briefly untying him from the chair. Lucifer made a run for it, arms and legs still tied together. Another Demon accompanied them.

Random Demonic Minion Number One. RDMN1.

Lucifer ran for it. More like he jumped for it, arms and legs still tied together, Meg chasing after him and RDMN1 losing his shit on the corner of the abandoned street.

They managed to catch him, eventually, and tie him to the seat of the truck, with Meg driving and RDMN1 watching Lucifer like he is either a miracle or a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty hard, trying to get Lucifer's character down. Especially with the whole amnesia thing I'm writing.


	8. In Humanity We Trust

Anna flies, as fast and as hard as she could, her brothers and sisters chasing after her, shouting frantic orders in Enochian. Specks of grace flies away from the cuts in her skin, bubbling to the surface of her bruises. Her wings arches against the upper atmosphere, pushing up and down, up and down against the clouds. To anyone that was looking they are shooting stars, falling through the skies.

The sun leaves a bright sheen across everything. Anna cries out when one of her brothers struck her left wing. She turns and grabs a handful of his wing, twisting the grace with her bare hands. She escapes, but barely, ignoring the screaming pain in her wing. She has to leave and run, to stop what Heaven is attempting to do. Anna loses her pursuers somewhere above the forests of Germany.

She crashes into the grass and wood, silently thankful that there are no humans near here. The earth smelled like fresh grass after a rainstorm and lingering lightening. Anna refuses to let such a beautiful place come to ruin just because of Heaven and Lucifer’s spat.

She was there, too, during the first great civil war, where all the Angels first learned what _fear_ and _death_ and _betrayal_ was. When they first opened the weaponry and forged the first silver blades that cut swaths amongst their siblings. Heaven was never the same after the first war. Anna knows that Earth does not need to know the pain and bloodshed. Lucifer and Michael will bring the Apocalypse upon these humans, these curious, vulnerable creatures that required protection more than anything. They, Anna thought, are Angels. Are they not supposed to _love_ , to _protect and serve_?

Her time as a Anna Milton has given her insight to what being a human is like. So much emotion, so much confusion and yet the sheer amount of potential a single human has astounds her.

Humans have faults and flaws, much more than Angels. They are arrogant and sinful and blasphemous, they love too much and hurt too easily. But they try. They try so hard and that is all that matters. And, as much as she liked being an Angel, Anna found that she prefers to be human, to be able to taste, to feel, to love as humans do. Perhaps when this is all over.

But now, she has an Apocalypse to stop.

Killing Sam and Dean Winchester will be off tables- the Archangels will piece them together, twist time- they will destroy her with a single thought, and Anna liked being alive too much to risk it. And if the Archangels do not kill her Castiel, and the other hunters they work with will definitely try. But there is another way. If this is a game, then all she has to do is to take an important player off the playing field. Michael is off limits- he is in Heaven, brooding, plotting, doing whatever he does.

Ever since the fall of Lucifer Michael disappeared from Heaven’s radar, only putting out orders through Naomi and Zachariah and other high class Seraphs. A Dominion like her will not even be able to get close to him without risking utter and total annihilation.

But Lucifer, yes. Anna pulled herself up slowly, leaning against a large tree, it’s rough bark scraping her skin. She masks her grace. Lucifer is on Earth, in a vessel. A vessel that could be killed, if she is _careful_ enough, _lucky_ enough.

Anna _needs_ to kill Lucifer to save this world that she has gotten so attached to. She would need a weapon. A weapon that could kill Archangels. Their swords come into mind, for only an Angel could kill another Angel, and only an Archangel could kill another Archangel. Getting her hands on an Archangel sword is nigh impossible. Michael has one, and Raphael has another- even attempting to come near Heaven will be a suicide mission. Anna looks to the sprawling cosmos for guidance, the twinkling of stars that has inspired so many great human writers and philosophers and scientists.

The answer came to her. A weapon forged by another extraordinary human being- Samuel Colt. _The Colt_ is was called. A whispered urban legend amongst even the most seasoned hunters. A gun that could kill anything. Anna disliked guns, preferring the grace and fluidity of swords and the like. But for this mission, she will find this colt. Anna will need help. Preferably help from hunters. The Winchester brothers come into mind, as she is most familiar with them. No.

They are vessels, and vessels of Archangels, at that. She cannot lead them close to Lucifer. Someone close to them, then. With a flap of her exhausted wings, Anna locates the hunters she requires help from. As predicted, they pumped shots of rock salt and threw holy water at her. She steps across the salt lines and devil traps.

 

“I mean no harm.” She says, quiet. The women exchanged glances and kept their distances, holding out their weapons in front of them.

“I am an Angel.”

“What does an Angel want to do with _us_?” The elder one asks, distrust clouding her face and her soul. Her soul is a righteous one, a good one- another one of the few true righteous people in the world.

“Mom! We should hear what she has to say!” The younger one whispers, eyes flickering between her mother and Anna. Her soul is bright and fresh and good. Anna hopes that it stays that way.

“Please. I have need of you- of your help- Ellen, Joanna-” Surprise dances across their features at the mention of their names.

 

“Right- what’s that?” Ellen Harvelle asks. She does not yet trust Anna, and is halfway to the point of slamming her hand down upon the Angel Banishing sigil painted on the wall with blood.

 

“I need you to help me locate a gun that could kill Lucifer.” Anna decides to be honest. Honesty is something good, something that should be valued. Joanna draws in a breath, eyes widening and Ellen takes a step back, closer to the sigil.

“Please. This is the last resort- the only way-”

 

“We’ll do it!” Joanna blurts out and Anna throws a grateful smile at her.

“Joanna Beth Harvelle!” Ellen scolded, but she too made up her mind. They turn to Anna.

“We’ll do it.” Anna smiles. She can surly accomplish her task with the Harvelles helping her.

 

“Then we start now.”


	9. Wayward Sons

Sam groans awake. He fell asleep in the impala. It’s not uncommon, in their long drives and searches for cases. The tension in the car is high. He wanted too find Lucifer, so did Castiel. To his surprise, Dean did not suggest just leaving Lucifer with Meg.

“You said we can stop the Apocalypse if we make good with Lucifer, right?” Dean tells him, but Sam is not convinced. Dean seems determined, too determined- like he is trying to make up for some wrong-doing. Sam knows that look. The Motel room is bland like every other Motel room they have been in. The Hunters charges in, guns pointed at the brothers, backing them against the wall.

“You _don’t_ have to do this.” Sam pleads as they fire off accusation after accusation, blaming him for the plagues and rains of fire and destruction and deaths.

“These Demons told us that you raised their big daddy out of his cage.” They say. Lucifer is not doing this. Sam wants to argue- it took three bullets. He falls to the bed, the searing pain of the gunshots washed away by the blood leaking out of his body. He can feel himself floating, reaching upwards, seeing light. Dean shouts at him from the background, voice nothing but fuzzy static.

More gunshots. Sam finds himself out of the street. The night before he left for Stanford. Freedom, he thought, relief and exhilaration coursing through his body. Free, for the first time. No longer tethered to the revenge driven mission his father and brother pushed him upon.

 

Dean finds himself by six gates, each leading on to an expanse of blue skies and golden clouds. This is Heaven, he thinks. This is Heaven and he is dead, dead before they could find Lucifer and Meg and stop the Apocalypse. He walks through the gate, the one by the center gate. This gate is golden, liquid fire reaching up to the skies in spirals of red flames. The fire cracks beneath his skin, beneath his eyes. Dean walks through, unharmed.

Angels around him sings in Enochian, _Michael_ , they cry, _Michael_ , the sword has returned and Dean knows.

 

He is Dean Winchester. He has spent thirty odd years as Dean Winchester. His father is John Winchester, and his younger brother is Sam Winchester. His mother was killed by the yellow eyed demon Azazel. He likes pie and classic rock. He likes to drink and he is a hunter. He is the righteous man.

His name is Michael. He is an Archangel. He was alive ever since his father first created him at the dawn of time, before direction was ever made in the void that became the universes. He has countless brothers, and one that burnt the brightest was Samael, who now called himself Lucifer. The Light Bringer, the Morning Star.

He burns cold and Michael burns hot and one day they will _destroy_ each other, for it was prophesied, for it was the will of his father and Michael is the _good son_ , the righteous one and Michael _will_ carry out his will. Lucifer needs to die, Michael thinks.

But he does not have his memories, Dean tells himself. People can change. Lucifer did change. Lucifer is the one who rebelled, who sparked the first wall and incited their father’s incredible rage that silenced Heaven’s songs for eons.

Lucifer is the one who wear’s Sam’s clothes and likes fancy drinks and is a sad drunk who tells bad jokes.

The conflicting personalities screamed in Dean’s mind, in Michael’s mind, billions of years of knowledge and observation, of obedience, thirty years of truly living, of experiencing _free will_ , of rebellion. Michael gasps in pain, clutching his head as the fire of his grace flares up inside his body, his body.

“Dean!” He hears a cry, and drops onto the ground, in the field outside the Motel room. Fourth of July, setting off fireworks with Sammy while dad worked a case. Disobeying a direct order.

 

“Why did you say yes, _why_?!” Castiel. His friend. His Angel- was shaking his shoulders, blue eyes wide and tears on his face. He grips Dean’s shoulders. It did not hurt like it should, because Dean is Michael, and Michael is so much stronger than Castiel. Michael can make Castiel disappear into oblivion just like Raphael did that night Lucifer rose.

“Cas-” Dean holds onto the Angel, not knowing what to say. He pushes the turmoil of his conflicting thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing on Castiel instead. “It’s just me, it’s just Dean.”

Castiel shakes his head, and Dean sees the sheer _hopelessness_ in the younger Angel’s eyes when he realized what Dean knows.

“Michael.” He chokes out, voice hollow and broken and Dean wants to press his lips to his, so he can drown out the anguish, and tell Castiel that he is more than just Michael.

“Not just Michael.” Dean presses his forehead against Castiel’s, hand cupping the back of his neck and threads his fingers through his dark hair. “Not just Michael.” Dean repeats, holding Castiel’s gaze.

“Cas, please-” Castiel shakes his head, looking down. “Please don’t tell Sammy.” Dean begs. “Please.”

Cas looks up. “Why would you still care about Sam? You are _Michael_.” Castiel spits out his name like it’s a curse, and Dean’s heart hurts at the venom.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not _Dean_.” Castiel closes his eyes.

“Why?” He asks. Michael shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. Believe me, Cas.”

 

Castiel nods, bringing Dean and Sam back to the Motel room. Heaven will not let them die, not yet- not when they still believe them to be Michael and Lucifer’s vessels, respectively.

“Hey Cas?” Sam drags Castiel out of the room, tugging on his arm. “I keep hearing something about Michael being back- is that true?”

“I do not know.” Castiel lies. Dean is Michael and it hurts like betrayal, like a sword in his heart.

“Hey Cas! Sam!” Dean strides out.

 

“God does not wish to be involved.” Castiel tells Dean, gauging his reaction, his heart thundering in his chest. If Dean still remembers being Michael, then-

“Oh.” Dean smiles, a small false smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh, gotta talk to you, Cas.” He grabs Castiel’s arm and drags him off behind the impala.

“ _Please_ \- don’t tell Sam, Cas.” Michael asks.

“You can kill me with a thought.” Castiel replies, voice hard, betraying no emotion.

“I-”

“Good day, Michael.” Castiel turns away, defiantly. If Michael wishes to destroy him he could just follow Castiel and do so.

“Cas! Come back here!” Dean yells, running after the Angel. Castiel disappears with a single beat of his wings. To the Mariana Trench, Michael senses. But he does not follow him.

“Cas!” He screams to the air, knowing that Castiel cannot hear him. Michael wants to scream out for him with his true voice. Sam catches up- Sam, his younger brother- the one Dean went to Hell, suffered for forty years for- Does being Michael erase all that?

“Come back here! We are a _team_ , right?” Dean shouts, his voice hoarse and throat raw. His grace fixes the damage immediately and Dean hates himself for being Michael.

Hates the fact that he is the Archangel. Hates the way it creates a rift between him and Castiel, one that he is certain cannot be fixed.

“Cas! You promised! Team Free Will! _You fucking promised_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next ch will be introducing Gabe :)


	10. Just One Yesterday

Meg growls, striding across the room, the other Demons looking at each other, shuffling their feet. It is no hidden fact among them that Lucifer is not quite himself, given that he is mostly tied up and knocked out in a corner of the abandoned warehouse in Chicago they are occupying.

“There _has_ to be some other way.” Meg kicks at some of the Demons, barking orders. They go off, making themselves scarce. She has exhausted almost every resource, getting her Demons to possess as much professionals as they could, scooping out information and knowledge from their minds. Still no clue on how Lucifer’s powers are bound. She dared not to ask the more powerful ancient Demons of Hell.

Lilith is dead, but the others, Beelzebub, Behemoth, Abbadon and the Legendary Cain are still alive and they will tear her to shreds. No, she needs to rely on an outside source to break this spell.

The Pagan Gods. Meg, like all other Demons, disliked them. They are ancient, and more powerful than most of them, except for perhaps the ancient ones. She is reluctant to seek them out, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. When her Father gains his memories back, Meg thinks, he will _destroy_ them.

Which God, then? Which one is powerful enough to destroy such powerful bindings? Kali the Destroyer, with her winds and hurricanes and fires? No, she will attempt to burn them to cinders before even considering helping. Thor, then, or Odin. Norse Gods. They are strong. But hard to locate.

Loki, then. Meg realizes. _Loki_ is a perfect choice. Being the King of Tricksters and a demi-god, Loki should be more than willing to hear her offer. She orders another Demon to bring as much candy to the warehouse as possible. She is going to make Loki an offer he cannot resist- protection against Lucifer’s eventual wrath and, of course, lots of sugar.

 

The ritual in itself was not hard. Meg is skilled with many different rituals dealing with various elements of the supernatural. Even Angels, considering that her father was a fallen Angel. She gets her Demons to gather all the things she needs- chalk, blood, ink. Various rare herbs and crushed bones. The ritual is not the easiest one to use for summoning Loki, but it is one of the oldest known ones and the most powerful.

Surly the Trickster King cannot ignore her after such a summoning. Meg sets up the Altar in the warehouse adjacent to the one they are currently occupying. The summoning took vast amounts of her energy, but Meg’s mouth managed to curl up in a tired, satisfied half smile at the sight of the golden haired man standing in the center of the ring.

“ _Hello_ , Loki.” Gabriel was surprised when he felt the tugging of a summoning spell. It’s definitely not the work of some teenager thinking it would be fun to try and summon a pagan god. It’s not even the work of the few witches powerful enough to summon him. The spell is ancient, and any human who knew how to cast it is dead and long buried. He finds himself facing a Demon. With Gabriel’s powers, he could easily resist the summoning. Unfortunately, that would cast many suspicions on his actual powers and identity.

He sucks on the candy, eyeing the Demon. Her soul is as dark and twisted as any other Demon’s soul. He can see Azazel’s mark, the fallen’s tainted grace littering it’s marks onto what’s left of her soul.

“Demon.” He let’s his mask fall into place, twisting into a familiar grin. “I thought that ritual is lost but,” He gestured with the lollipop, “apparently not.”

Meg smirks. “I know a _lot_ of things, Trickster King.” She observes Loki. He seems like an unassuming man, slightly shorter than her with slicked back hair and bland, ordinary clothes. He could be just any man on the street, the only thing betraying his true nature the glint of malicious mischief in his eyes.

“You sure do.” Gabriel keeps his voice light and airy. “Obviously-” He points to the setup. This Demon really overdid it, with the flowers and altars and candles and incense. She must really want something. “You went to, uh, great lengths for all this, so, what _do_ you want?”

Meg smirks.“Ain’t that the million dollar question?”

“C’mon, make the offer” Gabriel pouts, “I don’t have all day. I’ve got a job, you know- serving out _Just Desserts_.”

“I just need a little help. In the magic department, if you will.”

“Well” Gabriel shrugs. He could just smite this Demon, but who knows how many more will follow? That is the problem with this whole identities thing.

“You have heard of-” Meg grins “Our _lord and savior_ Lucifer, right?” Gabriel stiffens at the mention of Lucifer, eyes going wide for the fraction of a second. Of course this has something to do with Lucifer. It is the Apocalypse, after all. And after all that lying low Lucifer still manages to find him, though not in the way he expected. He regains his composure.

“Sure! Why not, eh? _King of the damned_ it is!” He chirps. Gabriel is a natural born actor, really. He should be winning an Oscar for this.

Gabriel really didn’t expect to see a relatively unassuming blond man tied to a chair. Meg, the Demon glances at him and quirks an eyebrow.

“As you can see, I have a _problem_.”

 

Lucifer groans, stirring in his seat. He lifts his head up, shaking errant blond strands away from his eyes. Meg was there, as usual. There is also a man. A blond man. There is something familiar about him, something that makes Lucifer’s stomach churn with unknown feelings. Gabriel gazes into his lost brother’s eyes, seeing no recognition in his vessel’s ice blue eyes. His disguise is that good.

“Can you break the bindings on him?” The Demon asks.

“What bindings?” Gabriel takes a closer, more cautious look at Lucifer. Apart from the crude bounds that holds him in place(not even Archangel binding seals), there are other seals. Deeper, more powerful, woven into Lucifer’s being.

“He can’t remember anything. Like a _blank slate_. And he got kidnapped by the _Winchesters_ , too.” Meg sneers. “Who knows what kind of _bullshit_ they put in his mind?”

Lucifer lost his memories? He pokes at the golden seals, and an ancient, almost forgotten power washes over Gabriel. For a moment there, Gabriel refuses to believe what he felt. The sheer power the bindings hold almost throws him off his feet. It’s overwhelming, feeling his father’s power after thousands of years without it. It makes Gabriel want to reach out, to sink into the light and cry out for love and affection and adoration.

It’s how they, how Angels are _made._ They have _no choice_ but to _love_ and _obey_ God. It’s written into their very being, and no matter how hard Gabriel resisted he still missed the feeling. No wonder Heaven went insane after his departure. Steadying himself, Gabriel pulls away from the bindings.

“Well?” The Demon asks and Gabriel slips on his mask like a professional. He shakes his head, stilling himself.

“I can’t. Seals are done by someone stronger than me.” The Demon’s face twists in rage. She leaps forwards, grabbing Gabriel by his shirt.

“Lies. My father will be restored.”

“Fraid the restoring can _wait_ , darling.” He presses two fingers to her forehead, putting her to sleep before masking his grace with pagan magic.

 

“Hello, Lucifer.” Gabriel spins around, facing his estranged older brother. Lucifer stares at the man- he heard something about summoning someone to help him regain his memories.

“Uh, hi?” He asks, moving uncomfortably against the ropes. The man- Loki? Snaps his fingers and the ropes came off, along with whatever sigils and bindings Meg put on him. Loki grabs Lucifer before he could run, and grins at his expression. Lucifer decides that he did not like this man. At all.

“C’mon, now, Luce- it’s _playtime_!” They disappear, only to reappear half way across the country, in a cabin covered in seals. “Is it true?” Gabriel asks, eyes wide, shaking Lucifer’s shoulders.“You can’t remember anything?”

“Yes?” Lucifer frowns. There is something odd about this man, that makes him feel familiar and strange at the same time. He exerted some sort of energy that he responded to.

“You don’t remember _me_?” Gabriel asks. He is supposed to be relieved- that Lucifer did not, could not want this Apocalypse. But he is also selfish and the thought of all those memories of them together, as fledglings, growing up being gone-

“Am I supposed to?” Lucifer asks. “Can you, uh, bring me back to the Winchesters? Do you know them?” Gabriel scowls.

“I do know the Winchesters.” Great. Those yahoos has stolen _another_ one of his brothers. “But, no. You, Luci, are staying with me.”

Lucifer contemplated escape. But, considering he knows nothing about using any of his supposed powers(and the fact that they are bound), he probably won’t get far.

“Do you wanna know who I _really_ am?” Gabriel asks. _Bad_ idea, he scolded himself, exposing his true identity like this. But this is Lucifer- and Gabriel wants him to know.

“Who are you, then?” Lucifer asks, feeling as if he already know the answer. A word in the back of his mind and at the tip of his tongue, held back by whatever is holding back his memories and powers. Gabriel steps back, grinning.

 

“Call me _Gabriel_ , brother.”


	11. What to Bury, Us or the Hatchet?

Castiel curls up into himself, pushing his body closer to the large rock, the water and pressure pressing into his vessel. He lets out a wrecked sob, bringing his knees up and closer to his body. How should he face Dean after all this, knowing who he really is? Knowing that the man he pulled out of hell, the one with the shining, bright, beautiful soul that Castiel cannot help but stare at, is just Michael in disguise.

He had tried to convince that Castiel that he was not just Michael, but Castiel knew _better_. The ridges in the rocks dug into his back, and small red strands of blood left his body. This is _his_ body, now. Jimmy Novak is in Heaven, ever since Raphael ripped them both into pieces.

Dean is _Michael_ , his mind chants at him, not letting Castiel forget, even for a second. Castiel breathes in a lung full of salt water, the pressure of being at the bottom of the ocean crushing his body. Dean is Michael, and everything Castiel has been working for, every unknown, exciting, terrifying feeling he felt for the unorthodox man is for _nothing_.

And that thought is what absolutely _crushes_ Castiel, pushing him deeper into the pits of hopelessness. Is this what having emotions like? Is this what being human is like? All this _pain_ , all this _turmoil_. It would be better, easier for them all if Castiel cuts himself off from feeling human. Castiel steels his resolve.

From now on, he will crush all thoughts of free will. He will no longer think of Dean. He will be a _good soldier_ , and nothing more. For this is what Castiel is made to be, _nothing_ but God’s soldier, and Castiel intends to never let these irrational emotions overtake him again.

 

Michael is eternal, and Dean Winchester is not. But somehow, Dean thought, as he drove down the gravel road, an empty ache in his heart and Metallica blasting from the car radio, he still feels more like Dean Winchester than Michael. He still likes pie and women and hunting. That did not change and that will never change. He still want to protect Sam, and God, he wants to kiss and hold Castiel and tell him that everything will be just like before. Why does he even want to do _that_ to Castiel. There is just something about that Angel that draws Dean to him.

On the surface, Dean seems unconflicted. Dig deeper, and the conflicts of personality begins to clash. Lucifer, for one. Lucifer is his younger brother, just like Sam is. He needs to protect him just like he needs to protect Sam. He disobeyed John’s order, right? He did not kill Sam even when it was ordered. So why is it so damn hard to ignore the need to fulfill God’s prophecy? To stand and _slaughter_ Lucifer? Michael almost allowed himself to hope. Now that Lucifer did not remember anything, they can go back, go back to what it was once like, the pure happiness, the sheer joy of being with his shining brother without any burdens of duty and betrayal. Lucifer is light and all the other Angels gravitated towards him.

When he fell, it was like Heaven lost it’s light. Now he has a chance, Dean realizes, to save Lucifer. To restore their relationship. But Michael is the good son, he argues with himself. It’s drilled, programmed into him, into every one of his brothers and sisters. By rebelling, Lucifer sealed his fate. _Screw fate_ , Dean thinks, and the Michael part of him screamed at him.

How did Anael do it? Be able to combine her human and angelic personalities into one? His head hurts, and Dean wants to sleep. Well, he doesn’t need sleep, not anymore. He thinks. He doesn’t need to eat anymore, either. Bottom line, Dean is one of those dick Angels. Not sure how he feel about that. One of those dick Angels that hurt Cas.

Thinking about Cas sends another jolt of irrational anger and pain through him. Why did he leave? Before Dean can explain that he is still Dean, that nothing has changed just because he gained about, oh, billions of years of lost memories. He squeezes his fingers down on the wheel, careful to not hurt his baby. This means Dean is not all Michael, right? If he was like what he was before being born as Dean Winchester, Michael would not care about the car, about the impala. The car is his home, where he grew up. It feels more like home than Heaven.

They stop at a motel, Sam shooting Dean concerned look. Dean feels a stab of guilt for not telling him that he is Michael. But if Sam rejects him like Cas did, then Dean really have no idea what he will do.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam walks over, clasping his hand on his shoulder. Dean looks over, startled that he could see his brother’s soul. Sam’s soul is bright, and good, but the Demon blood covers it like a sheen of oil and filth. Dean jerks back violently.

“Don’t touch me.” He hisses. _Abomination_. A treacherous voice in his head laughs. That is what the other Angels called Sam-

“Dean!” Sam steps back. “Are you all right?” He asks, concern in his face, in his soul and Dean regrets lashing out like this. Why does it have to be him? Things were easier, when he thought of Michael as the guy who is trying to use him like a meat suit, not _himself_.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Dean grins. “Just a little jumpy.” The Motel room is small and cramped, and Dean wants to stretch his wings. Does he still know how to fly? Of course he does- every Angel knew how to fly from the moment they were made. Except for Lucifer, because Michael was the one who taught his first brother how to fly, his own personal request he made to their father.

“Where is Cas? He told me that Michael is back, then he just left.” Sam asks, turning his back to Dean and unpacking his laptop. “We should probably be looking for a case, since we can’t do anything about- you know.”

Sam rambles. Knowing that Michael is back, knowing that he is after them, and is probably after Lucifer- Sam just needs something mindless to do, to take his mind of all this.

“Yeah. A case.” Dean nods mindlessly. A case would be good. He looks into Sam’s soul again. He knows how to do all this. Look into souls, read minds. It’s mind-blowing, knowing that he is freaking Michael the Archangel.

“And we should look for Lucifer, too. What if they did something to him?” Sam thinks that this is all so surreal, that he is concerned for the Archangel that would have wanted to wear him, if he had his memories. But Sam is concerned. And Lucifer is his friend, their _friend_ now. Part of their rag-tag little group to stop the Apocalypse.

He refuses to think about what Castiel said about thinking about Lucifer naked. Even that sentence is making his head hurt. (But the sun really did light up his hair-).

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean flops down on the bed, moving his wings. Holy shit, they are huge.

“Yeah?” Sam sets his laptop down on the table, connecting to the Motel’s wifi.

“What do you think of-” Dean waves his hand in the air. “Michael?”

“The Archangel?” Sam asks, frowning. Why would Dean be asking about Michael?

“Yeah. Just- want _your_ opinion.” Stupid, stupid Dean, he thought. This is _reckless_. He should not be this reckless. But he needs to know what Sam thinks, is it safe to tell him.

“Well-” Sam turns to Dean. Something is definitely up here. What if Dean said yes? Made a deal with Michael while they were dead? Knowing Dean, he is probably stupid enough to do something like that, if it insured Sam’s safety, or something. His heart pounds in his chest, attempting to rationalize these thoughts. If it’s Michael, he would have gloated at the horror on Sam’s face. He will not hide it. If it is not Michael, then why did Castiel leave like that?

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, keeping his voice light and neutral.

When they slept Sam keeps his back turned away from Dean, until dreams of a world without monsters and angels took him away.


	12. Ain't nobody gonna love you like a Devil do

Ellen and Jo kept their guns trained on the Demon. They have heard of him. Anna warned them about him, after all. Crowley. King of the Crossroads.

“Ladies, ladies- what is all this about?” Crowley grins at them, spreading his hands out.

“The _colt_.” Anna steps into the light, letting a bit of her true voice slip through. The slight glint of fear she sees in the Demon’s red eyes gives her a slight shiver of pride. Angels are powerful. They should be feared by creatures like Demons. “Give it to us.”

Her eyes glows, an ethereal blue. Large shadows of her wings filled the walls of the mansion. The two humans and the Demon shields their eyes from the light.

“Why should I do that, darling?” Crowley asks, stepping back. Sure, he can’t beat the Angel, but he still can cut a mean deal. King of the Crossroads, hello.

“I believe that you do not want Lucifer to rule hell and earth, yes?” Anna tilts her head. Power games like this are getting increasingly easier to play. She can certainly see the appeal, with practically everything in creation being weaker than she is. But she will not fall to it like her brothers and sisters. Being human once- that grounds her.

 

“What is going on here?” Castiel strides into the room. As soon as he left the Ocean, he felt Anael’s grace surge. She was his friend, his sister, and he mourned her when she fell. He takes a detour here, not wishing to face Michael- to face Dean so soon.

“Castiel.” Anna replies, closing in on the Demon.

“Oh, come on now, two against one?” Crowley keeps the colt trained at them.

“Four against one, actually.” Ellen cocks her gun at him, daring him to shoot.

 

“What are you looking for, sister?” Castiel asks Anael. Anna does not answer. Castiel was traveling with Lucifer- no matter how much he seemed to change- how human the Angel has become- it’s easier to trust herself and the two humans under her watch.

“I can handle this myself, Castiel.”

 

Castiel nods at his sister. One Demon, even the King of the Crossroads, is no match for an Angel at full power. He flies away, not willing to deal with anything. Father, Castiel thought to the skies. He is so tired. He is so lost. He lost the family he just found- Sam and Dean and- father, it hurts so much to think about Dean.

 

“You want Lucifer gone.” Crowley turns to the Angel and humans. “I want Lucifer dead. How about a deal?”

“What kind of deal?” Jo eyes the colt. She has heard of the weapon before. A legend, a bedtime story, and now she is standing on the cusp of changing the world.

“A good deal, darling- a good deal.”

* * *

 

“You are Gabriel? The Archangel?” Lucifer asks, trying to remember what little he knows about Gabriel. Brother, a word came to his mind.

“You got me, Luci.” Gabriel takes Lucifer, clouding them both with magic, and flies away to the tip of the Himalayas, on the edge of the world.

“Do you remember how to fly?” He asks. Lucifer shakes his head, eyes wide. He tries to reach for his invisible wings, balancing himself on the rocks, staring down at the sheer mountainside below.

“You know.” Gabriel stares at his brother- it’s like Lucifer is a fledgling again, not knowing how to fly, not knowing anything. His brother raised him, back when things were simple and Death is a concept no Angel knew- and now the roles are practically reversed. His father has a strange of humor.

“You taught me how to fly.” Gabriel tells Lucifer.

“I did?” Lucifer asks, the absurdity of his predicament striking him again. Here he is, standing on top of the world with the Archangel Gabriel, after being kidnapped two times, once by hunters and an Angel, and then by a Demon. And once by Gabriel makes three times, he supposes. All in the space of about a little less than two weeks. Maybe he will wake up at a hospital soon, all of this a vivid daydream. Knowing his luck, probably not.

“Yep. Michael- you know Michael, right?” Lucifer nods. Sam warned him about Michael, once, taking him too the side, looking serious and a little scared, telling him to stay as far away from Angels and Michael as possible.

“There was this story.” Gabriel looks up, the stars unusually bright against the night sky. “That Michael asked for you to not be able to fly when you were made.”

“And?”

“And he taught you how to fly- and you asked father to make me- so that I can’t fly. And _you_ taught me how to fly.”

Oh. Lucifer turns to Gabriel. There is an air of sadness over him, and he wishes that he could remember what Gabriel talked about. The Angels, they sounded happy- how did it lead to this?

“Did I? Teach you how to fly?”

“Yep.” Gabriel chirps, way too fake and way too happy than he should be, given the circumstances. He jerks Lucifer away from the mountains and into a motel room, like one of those that he stayed in with Sam and Dean.

“Get some sleep, brother. Tomorrow is take Lucifer to work day.”

“We don’t _need_ sleep.” Lucifer tells him. But he does like it. The ability to close his eyes and be dead to the world, for a few hours, at least. “What kind of work?” Gabriel- Archangel of Justice- the Messenger- comes to his mind-

“Serving out Justice, Lucy.” Gabriel winks. “Just desserts.”

“What-”

“You’ll see, Luce- you’ll see.”

 

Lucifer asks Gabriel why he left and Gabriel tells him it’s because Lucifer left.

“No hard feelings, bro.” He tells him. “It’s what family does. Leave each other.”

“Family-”

“Well, that’s what _our_ family does.” Lucifer pats Gabriel’s hair. The Angel not at all the cheerful man he seemed to be. Gabriel clings on to him when they slept, and Lucifer wonders about what the hell happened to this family of his. He wishes that he could remember, just to know what it was like, him teaching Gabriel how to fly. He will take all the bad memories that came with the good, if he’d just remember. Gabriel is still his little brother, and Lucifer vows to protect him as much as he can.

Gabriel wakes him at the middle of the night, golden eyes shining, like he couldn't believe that Lucifer is here, and not out there destroying the world. Lucifer looks back- trying to remember- something inside him telling him that Gabriel is important. Gabriel is his to look after and Gabriel is important.

Lucifer has no idea what to say, so he just  holds on to Gabriel, harder, closer, and hopes that it makes a difference.


	13. Hey, brother

“Look.” Sam gestured to Dean. It’s still uncomfortable. His brother acts too different to be entirely Dean, but not different enough to be possessed. Right now, their priority is to find Meg and Lucifer.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, ordering another piece of pie. Pie is still good. He can rely on pie.

“It says that lots of construction workers and just random people went missing in _Chicago_ , in places near abandoned warehouses.”

“And?” Sam sighs. “And, _Dean_ -” He pulls the pie away from his brother, ignoring the indignant ‘hey!’- “There is also strange electrical storms and weather being off in the general district. And it all happened about a week ago. When Meg took Lucifer.” He lowers his voice.

“Chicago?” That will be a long drive, Dean thinks. He could just fly there. The discrepancies in his personalty are becoming easier to manage. Well, that is if he does not think about Demon blood, Lucifer or Castiel. He tried calling Castiel, but no answers. Flying is nice. The pull of his wings, the fabric of air and space and time knits together and falls apart with the movement of his powerful appendages. When he flies, he is Michael, _Archangel_ , infinitely old and infinitely powerful.

“Yep.” Sam says. Dean is spacing out again. He spaces out a lot, recently. Which adds to Sam’s suspicions. He ignores the need to ask questions. For once, everything is going right between them. Sue him for wanting to hold on to this just for one more day.

“Let’s go, then.” Dean flexes his invisible wings again.

“I’m going to the bathroom, you coming?” Sam asks Dean.

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean stretches, walking towards the impala. He should probably go, just to keep up with appearances- but he is feeling reckless, wanting to drop Sam a few _hints_. Ease him into things. Sam is no idiot, and he is noticing. Should he tell him, or let Sam figure things out by himself? That he is Michael, not just possessed?

 

Sam slinks into the bathroom, feeling his heart sink into his stomach. Dean doesn’t seem to sleep. He woke up in the middle of the night, to find the other bed empty. He seems to need to go to the bathroom much less than usual- and probably only to keep up with appearances. Is this some sick game whatever is possessing Dean is playing. Is this Michael? Dean’s anti-possession tattoo is still in place- it can’t be anything but Michael. Sam wouldn’t think of Michael as someone who likes to play head games, but it seems so.

 _Why_ did Dean say yes? Is he still in there? What they _hell_ did Michael offer? What did Michael do to Cas? Michael is probably using him to find Lucifer, Sam realizes in horror. And now he knows where Lucifer might be. He shudders, leaning against the cold tile wall and dials Bobby’s number.

 

“Yes?” Bobby was like a father to both of them and his voice, gruff and steady is as reassuring as anything could be at this point.

“Dean said _yes_ to Michael.” Sam whispers, wondering if Michael could hear him. "We died, and I went to Heaven, and God is gone and Dean said yes to _Michael_."

“He did what?!” Bobby shouts from the other side, gripping tight on his wheel chair.

“He said yes. I don’t know why- but Michael is pretending to be _Dean_ -” Bobby falls silent.

“Can Castiel help?”

“Michael did something to him- Castiel- he’s _gone_ -”

Bobby swears. “Balls! Keep an eye on him, boy- I’ll dig up as much lore as I can about Archangels as possible.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

Sam steps out of the bathroom, finding Dean nodding his head along to some song or another- no, not Dean. He trains hard to keep his breathing normal, not letting anger get into his head. If Michael wants to play a game, then a game he gets. Did Michael think Sam was stupid? Sam thought as they drove on, Michael speaking with Dean’s mouth, laughing with Dean’s eyes, playing Dean’s music, driving Dean’s car.

“So, Chicago-” Dean says, and Sam jolts out of his seat. Dean is no idiot, despite what he tries to make people think and he knows what Sam is thinking. Well, _mind reading_ helped as well. It’s pretty ironic, really. He remembers being Michael, and Lucifer forgets about being Lucifer. He wishes that he can forget again- but his grace, oh, he did miss being an Angel.

“What about Chicago?” Sam asks, voice smoothed over, with only a hint of hardness underneath. If Dean’s senses are not heightened, then he wouldn’t have even noticed. Damn. He realizes. My Sammy is a good at this. Like Lucifer. He refuses to let his mind go that way.

“Lucifer is in Chicago, right? Now we just gotta go and get him away from Meg and her horde of Demons.” Dean reaches out with his grace again. Meg, and various other demonic presences remains in Chicago, which made him breath in relief, because if they moved then he really couldn’t explain things to Sam without everything blowing up in his face. He can't sense Lucifer's presence, but Meg will not harm her maker. And if she did she brings Michael's wrath down on her head.

“Yeah, of course.” Sam is sounding a little more strained now, restless. Dean opts to nod and turn up the music instead of poking at him some more. Sam leans against the window. Their must be some way to warn Lucifer of this- a way to get a message some how. He doesn’t want Lucifer to be killed by Michael. Not like _this_. Never like this. Not when he is just starting to learn, just starting to _understand_.

Lucifer got a chance now, Sam thinks. A chance to change things. From what he has heard, Lucifer was not exactly the most well adjusted Angel. And Michael- Michael will take it all away again. Sam thought of the powerful being that is wearing his brother’s skin snuffing out the light in his eyes. Sam grips the leather seat tight. What he feels for Lucifer- what he is feeling for Lucifer- it’s not simple camarade

rie, or friendship- it’s something more. His mind is going to places Sam would rather not go. But sitting here, with Michael at the wheel, Sam decides to go where he wants to for once. He likes Lucifer. Wants him. Want to be with him. He looks at him like he looked at Jess- And that thought _scares_ him. Because whatever they could have been, whatever they could have had, would all be lost when Michael finds Lucifer.

Hell, he is still too scared to admit that they could have been anything, because everyone that Sam have any sort of feelings for ends up dead. Every one of them. He must be cursed, somehow. Does that extend to Archangels too?

Dean tries not to listen to Sam’s thoughts. Hell, he doesn’t care if Sam wants Lucifer(but Lucifer and Gabriel!) his mind whispers to him, memories of two younger brothers fooling around in the garden surfacing in his mind. He shakes those thoughts away.

But Sam- thinking of _himself_ like that- when Dean finds whoever did that to him they will have hell to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, my lovely readers :)


	14. runs in the family

Castiel flies away from Annael. Whatever she wants from the Demon, she would surly get it. Flying with a vessel is different from flying freely. More constricted, yet more exhilarating. Castiel moves without direction.

Angels are not meant to be without purpose. A golden thrum of grace in the air, mingled with old magic catches his attention, and Castiel almost fall out of the skies. _Gabriel_. His mind supplied. Their golden messenger is on earth. He flies towards where he last felt Gabriel’s grace. Faster than he has ever flown before.

 

 

“Gabriel?” Gabriel shoots up, eyes wide and arms wrapped around Lucifer as soon as he feels another Angel appear in the room. Castiel stares wide-eyed at Lucifer and Gabriel. He knows what Lucifer’s grace feels like, bright and cold and he follows the thin thread to here, a place shrouded in Pagan magic. Perhaps a Pagan god took Lucifer away.

They would not want the Apocalypse. Instead, he saw Gabriel’s grace, all bright and golden and shining like Heaven’s gates, covered and disguised by centuries of magic woven in, clouding it until only Angels standing close enough will be able to recognize him. When Castiel was a fledgling Angel, he had the chance to talk to Gabriel. An _Archangel_. Perhaps it was nothing to the Archangel, but for a regular soldier like Castiel, it was like staring into the sun, and have the sun smile back. He never forgot.

When Gabriel disappeared, Castiel mourned, even more than his brethren.

“Ow- Castiel?” Gabriel scrambles up, Lucifer rubbing at his eyes.

“Gabriel? Lucifer?” Castiel looks around. If Gabriel is with Lucifer, then it surely means that he is on their side. On the side of their team. He _should_ warn Lucifer about Dean being Michael. He hesitates- Castiel did swear to himself to follow Dean’s lead, to follow Michael and bring Lucifer to him if he asks of Castiel(But he did not _ask_ , and so Castiel will not follow what is not asked of him)

“Cas?” Lucifer asks, Gabriel grabs his hand.

“He’s back, isn’t he?” Gabriel asks Castiel. One look at his baby brother’s face tells him all he needs to know. Michael is back. Great. And if Michael is back that means he is after Lucifer’s ass, which means he is after their collective asses. Even more great, because Gabriel quite like his backside the way it is, and not as a burnt out smudge on the ground.

“He is.” Castiel thought of Dean. Why does it _hurt_ whenever he thinks of Dean? Dean is just a blip in Michael’s lifetime. Dean is _gone_. By all logic, Dean _should_ be gone. But when Michael talked to Castiel, he sounded so much like _Dean_ that it hurt even more. He wants Dean back- the Dean he pulled out of Hell. The righteous man.

“Who is back?” Lucifer asks. No matter how much these people include him, there is still no way that he is a part of this. He is Lucifer. He is the Devil. He talked to God, even. But there is still a part of him that wants to leave this whole hunting, Angels and Demons and Apocalypse thing. He has a new start now- he can go, and he can _leave_ and he can live his life. But they keep pulling him in and he knows that with Gabriel here, he cannot leave(because it’s Gabriel- he just _can’t_ leave Gabriel.)

“Michael.” Gabriel clings onto Lucifer again. He cannot lose his brother again- and Michael will kill them both if he is here. Castiel nods.

“Gabriel, I-”

 

Gabriel disappears before Castiel could say anything, dragging Lucifer with him.

“Michael- _who_ is Michael-” Lucifer follows Gabriel, the air around him moving as if he was flying and he wants to fly, he wants to move his wings- he spent thousands of years in utter darkness and he wants to fly again-

“Our _brothe_ r- C’mon, Luce, we gotta bolt. If Mikey’s here he’ll off us both.” Gabriel tugs harder on Lucifer’s hand. Michael- Michael was their big brother once- Michael _never_ ratted them out to _anyone_ \- but now Michael is back and hunting them both and Lucifer can’t remember anything and Gabriel has all his wounds ripped right open and there is nothing he can do about it but take Lucifer and run as far away as they could.

“Why does he want to kill you- kill me-” Lucifer follows Gabriel, the other angel moving almost too fast for him to follow, sparks of what felt like magic flying off him, clouding them both. God is real. Angels are real. Demons are real and he is Lucifer and another Archangel is off to kill him and he is running away with Gabriel. And there is nothing he could do but hold on to Gabriel and hope that the other Angel can have some answers, or at least take him back to Sam and Dean. They were friends, right?

“Because it’s what daddy _ordered_ , and Mikey follows orders like his _life_ depends on them.” Gabriel sounds bitter and angry at the declaration.

“Can’t we _talk_ to him?” Lucifer asks once they settle down again, in what looks like a cavern. Gabriel slits his palm open and begins to draw symbols and names- ‘Mikael, Raphael’ on the walls.

“What?” Gabriel turns to look at Lucifer, “Are you crazy?”

“This is about the Apocalypse, right?” Gabriel flinches. “I was supposed to start the Apocalypse- but I can’t remember anything- I can’t remember why- Michael won’t kill me if I don’t do anything, right?”

Gabriel walks over, with what looks suspiciously like tears in his eyes as he beckons Lucifer. He grabs Lucifer, wrapping his arms around him so tight like he cannot let go. “Dammit, Lucifer- It’s _Michael_ \- he will kill us- _trust me_ , kay? _Please_?”

Lucifer nods, holding on to Gabriel and not knowing what to do- every time someone, anyone mentions the name Michael it’s like someone took a knife to his heart and sprinkled salt on the wound. He doesn’t remember- he should be detached- but he is not, and- “What about my _friends_ -” Friends- Sam and Dean- they were friends, right? And they are hunters- they can help him and Gabriel hide from this Michael guy.( _his brother, Michael is his brother oh God and he will kill him and Gabriel-_ ) “Sam. And Dean. They can help us, right?”

Gabriel lets go, leaving his hand tugging on Lucifer’s shirt. He seems almost offended. “What- Samsquatch and Deano? They can’t help us- they-” His eyes widens. Gabriel steps back, leaning against the damp walls of the cave. “Shit. Shit shit shit-”

“Gabriel? Hey- Gabe?” Lucifer tries to calm him down.

“Oh, no no no-”

“Hey, Gabriel- listen- whatever it is, you can tell _me_ -” Lucifer babbles, holding on to Gabriel’s shoulder. They never let go of each other ever since they meet.

“That idiot! He said yes!” Gabriel thinks in horror- at first, he did want the Winchesters to just say yes and get it over and done with. Hell, he was ready to step in and make them say yes. Then the Demon summoned him and he found Lucifer again, and now Michael must have a _vessel_ -

“Who said yes- _wha_ t are you talking about-” Seeing Gabriel like this sets Lucifer off- Gabriel should be _happy_ \- Gabriel should be- The pain in his head flared as he winces, the surfacing memories cut off.

“Dean Winchester- Damn- I thought that kid was more stubborn than Michael, but apparently _not_ -” Gabriel cuts himself off, groaning at Lucifer’s confused look. He should have never answered. Then Gabriel could be off, playing the Pagan God until the end of times( _but then he would have never found Lucifer again-_ )

“What about Dean?” Lucifer asks. True, he did like Sam more than his brother, felt closer to him than he did with Dean, but Dean was also his friend and they did strike it off that night when Dean dragged him around that town for drinks.

“We- Angels- we need vessels.”

“ Vessels?”

“Yep.” Gabriel wonders, at how Lucifer is still intact. Probably another aspect of the bindings.

“Am I in a vessel, then?” Lucifer considers his body- a vessel- not even his own body yet it _feels_ like his own.

“Brother, we are all in vessels. Like, all of us on earth. Problem is, Deano is _Michael’s_ vessel. And Michael is here. Which means Deano said yes- cause we need _consent_ , you see?”

“Oh.”

Lucifer keeps his arms wrapped around Gabriel’s shoulders. He can’t let go. _They_ can’t let go. Gabriel reaches back, and Lucifer knows it’s because he cannot let go as well. He can’t remember what happened between Lucifer and Gabriel, the old Lucifer and Gabriel, but he knows that even without his memories he will not let go of Gabriel. It’s an instinct, that runs _deeper_ than memories. 

“Lucifer?” Gabriel leans into his brother’s touch, like he has so many times before Lucifer fell.

“Yes?”

“You right now- it’s like _before_ you fell.” Gabriel closes his eyes. Lucifer, even without his memories, acted exactly like he did, before everything went down the drain. Heck, looks like their dad left Luce’s personality intact. Well, his old personality. And call Gabriel _selfish_ , but he wants _this_ \- want them to remain exactly like this, till the end of time, till Death comes and reaps everything. Until then, he thinks, let them have _this_. Just this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: Gabriel, Lucifer, Bobby, Sam, pretty much everyone thinks Michael is possessing Dean. Only Dean and Castiel know that Dean is Michael. 
> 
> ps. Gabriel and Lucifer has history, together. In Heaven, before Gabe left and Lucifer fell.


	15. Offer me that Deathless Death

“ _Hello_ , girls.” Meg sneers.

“Demon.” Anna nods. “Looks like you’ve got me _all trapped_.” She turns to the Angel and humans. More hunters. Looks like someone in her rank ratted her out to _Crowley_. This situation has _his_ demonic fingerprints all over it. Drat.

“Where is Lucifer- you must be hiding him.” Anna knows that Meg is an old Demon. Ancient and powerful- but if the Colt can kill _Azazel_ then it can kill her, and she knows that Meg knows as well.

“ _Loki t_ ook him.” Meg glares at them. “What, you think I haven’t done anything I could to break the spell on my father?”

“What spells?”

“Why the hell do you think Lucifer can’t remember anything- do you think he will be running around with the freaking _Winchesters_ if he knows who he really is?”

“The Winchesters?” Ellen and Jo trade looks. What are the boys doing associating with _Lucifer_? Meg rolls her eyes.

“Do you think I’ll really tell you? Dear _Lucifer_ you are idiotic.”

“She knows nothing.” Anna turns to the Harvelles. “We need to go and track down Lucifer. I cannot feel his grace, but I may be able to track Loki’s pagan magic.” She grabs Ellen and Jo and transports them half a world away before they can protest.

Meg smirks at the sight. Really, Angels have such a _one-track_ mind.Demons, on the other hand, can actually think. Well, some Demons, at least.

As soon as they find Lucifer and Loki they will cause quite a commotion. And when that does happen Meg will, of course, be waiting. She does have her means to track Angels. And Hunters, of course.

 

“Ah, hello, boys- here to let me outta my cage?” Meg grins, eyeing the Winchesters and the trap below her feet.

“Ooh, hello, _Mikey_.” Meg stares at Dean Winchester, attempting to not let her fear show. She never expected Deano to say yes, but who knows? Dean stiffens. Damn. Not like _this_.

“ _Mikey_?” Sam asks, stepping away from Michael. Now that this is out in the open the Archangel will have no more need to hide.

“Oh, what are you waiting for?” Meg rolls her eyes. “Just fyi, torture won’t work. Trust me, people tried.”

“But not _me_.” Dean lets his eyes glow and shadows of his wings fill the room. No more need to _hide_. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Sam inching away to the exit. He will need to explain to Sam later, but not before-

A sharp pang of pain strikes through him as Dean is ripped away from the warehouse and _flung_ far, _far_ away. He could see stars and space pass by. The pain as he is involuntarily sent away rips through him. Damn. Dean thought. Never banishing another Angel like this again.

Sam used the banishing sigil on him, Dean thought with a laugh. Sam thought he was banishing Michael. But what really hurt was that Sam did not even give him the benefit of the doubt. No one would believe that he is both Dean and Michael. That he does _not_ want the Apocalypse. That he does _not_ want to kill Lucifer. Dean wants to pray, to his father.

For the first time in his life, Dean wants to pray. He will _give up_ his powers, his status, his _wings_ if that means Sam will no longer look at him like he is about to explode any second. So that it means he no longer has to kill Lucifer. Dean flies back, letting his wings stretch against the solar winds and dying stars. The universe is beautiful, raw creation. He helped make some of the damn stars, even.

He catches a flash of Castiel’s grace. Exceptionally bright for such a young Angel. Dean groans. His obvious attraction towards Castiel is a pretty damn big problem. And it does hurt, it hurt like hell that Castiel knows he is Michael and Dean but still believes that Dean wants to _burn_ the world down.

 

He lands in front of Cas, the surprise flashing across the younger Angel’s face like another stab to his heart. The sword Cas pointed to him hurt even more.

“Dammit, _Cas_.” Dean walks forwards, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder. He flinches.

“Michael.”

“It’s _Dean_ , kay?” Dean tells Castiel, patting his back affectionately- like they used to. Being an Angel did bring something good to Dean. For one, it made him get over his panic about being attracted to Cas. If you have lived for billions of years and literally helped God shape the universe itself and watched the process of evolution over and over again then panicking over wanting another dude seems pretty fucking _pointless_.

Besides, Dean is an Angel, and Cas is an Angel, and technically they are wavelengths of celestial intent. Huh.

“...Dean.” Castiel follows Michael. The Archangel looks at him like he used to.

“Please, Michael-” He holds up his hand, preventing Michael from saying anything. “Do not pity me.”

“Cas. I’m not doing _anything_ , man.”

Cas. There is that name again, Castiel thought. He always thought of that name in tandem to _Dean._ And Michael is calling him that now. Perhaps the elder Archangel has taken some form of _pity_ on Castiel, wanting him to have an image, an illusion of Dean to cling to. Perhaps Michael, and the other Angels, are right. Perhaps free will is just an illusion. Why else will God give him Dean Winchester to save, only to make Castiel out as the _fool_?

“Cas? You okay?” Dean asks. Cas is acting all weird. Sam acts all weird because he thinks Dean is being possessed. And that hurt like hell. But even _Cas_ is doing this.

“Hey Cas-”

“Do not call me that.” Cas turns to Dean, blue eyes blazing. “You have _no right_ to call me that. Not anymore.” “Right.”

Dean licks his lips, not knowing what to say. What does Cas think? Dammit. He knows that Dean is still _Dean_ \- right? Just with a little extra. He has some wings and a load of identity issues. No big deal. But Castiel’s grace is blazing and angry and fucking beautiful and Dean _falls_ even harder, and-

“You are _not_ Dean Winchester,” Cas says so suddenly that Dean almost trips over his feet. “Dean Winchester is _dead_.”

“That is not true.” Dean grabs Cas, anger and frustration burning hot in his stomach and in his grace. “That is not fucking true and you know it.” He looks into Castiel’s eyes and grace and sees no fear, only acceptance, and Dean reels, sickened by what he saw. Cas thinks he’ll _kill_ him. Rip out his grace. Cas _wants_ to _die_.  Cas wants to die because he thinks that Dean no longer exists and Dean hurts for Cas, because he should not be feeling this way-

“If- If I’m not Dean-” Dean cups Cas’s face, and forces him to look at him, just look, _please_ \- “Then why the hell will I do this?” Dean leans in, closing the distance between their lips. Castiel remains still, stunned into silence, allowing a thread of _hope_ to weave into him.

Michael will not do this, would he? Then this means that Dean is Michael but that Dean is still Dean and Castiel allows himself to hope. He presses back. The kiss is more of a clash of tongue and teeth, the two men, the two Angels attempting to pour their frustration and anger and desperate need out at each other. Months of wanting and hiding and they take and take as much they could and Dean gives all that he can.

They don’t need to breath. They break apart and Dean breathes, not because he needs to but because he wants to clutch to his humanity like it’s something precious and Castiel _understands,_ resting his forehead against Dean’s. Maybe he is Michael. Maybe he is Dean. Maybe he is both but he is Castiel’s and in turn Castiel will be his. That he is sure of. But at this moment, Castiel wishes to not think. Only to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Feedback is appreciated :)


	16. Hideaway

Sam takes the impala, running away from Meg’s sick laughter as fast as possible. He steps down hard on the accelerator, frantically trying to calm himself down. Dean- Michael will not be able to find him with the sigils carved into his ribs, and thank Castiel for that, but he could find the impala. Sam will need to ditch the car soon. He may not be as obsessive over the car as Dean is- was- but- The impala was _home_.

It’s where Sam and Dean grew up. From motel room to motel room, the sleek classic car was the only constant thing in their lives. And it’s the _last_ reminder Sam has left of Dean. It’s where memories, good and bad, are made. And if Sam is going to escape Michael he will have to leave it behind. Bobby’s is too obvious. He called the older hunter earlier, telling him that he banished Michael and to put up sigils, and Bobby snorts and tells him that he already did, sonny, now you go and take care of yourself.

Sam _knows_ that he has to leave the impala behind, but he refuses to. Dean will kick his ass when he comes back. And he will, Sam swears. Somehow, he will find a way to kick Michael out of Dean’s body. Somehow, because they are brothers, because Dean would do the same for him. Because he has to, he needs to. And when Sam Winchester swears to do something he usually succeeds. Sam steps out, and begins to pray. He thought about this, on the way. He would need help.

“Dear Castiel.” He whispers to himself, hoping that the Angel will hear him. “If you are still alive out there, please come and help me. It’s Dean. I know you don’t know me that well, but you will help Dean. I know you will. Please.”

Sam opens his eyes. There is no tell-tale signs of wings flapping, or the sensation of Castiel’s eyes, all too knowing, staring into his soul. Sam tries again. Lucifer is an Angel. If Castiel cannot answer, then _Lucifer_ can. The fallen Archangel’s life is on the line as well, and it’s better that they stick together. Meg did not tell him anything but he knows that Lucifer got out. Sam only hopes that Michael did not find him first.

“Lucifer.” He says, “If you are still alive, _please_ be all right. Michael is possessing Dean, so if you see Dean, _run._ It’s _not_ him, okay?” He leans against the car, arguing with himself about whether to say what he wanted to to Lucifer.

“Just- take care.” Sam wants Lucifer to stay alive, where ever he is. “Please, find me. If you can. I need your help.”

 

He hears a noise behind him, like the sound of Castiel’s wings, but strangely muffled, and turns and sees the trickster.

“Hey there, Sammy.” Gabriel grins. “Your prayers gave Lucy _quite_ the headache.”

“How-” Sam narrows his eyes. The Trickster took Lucifer? Does that mean Pagan Gods have a stake in this Apocalypse now? He curses himself for not thinking about this angle earlier-

The Trickster grins at him and grabs Sam’s arm, and the sensation of being transported tugs Sam around. Sam falls to his knees, hands on the cold stone ground, throwing up what little is in his stomach. When he stands, leaning against the wall does he notice that he is in a small cavern, dimly lit, a large boulder covering the entrance and Enochian sigils written in blood covered the walls.

“Sam?” Sam turns to the direction of the familiar voice.

“Lucifer?” Lucifer heard the voices. Sam’s voice, to be specific. It pierced through the veil in his head, sending him convulsing to the ground and Gabriel into a panic.

“How-” Sam wraps his arms around the shorter man(Angel, whatever) and presses them together.

“Aww, you’re having a _moment_.” The Trickster snarks from the other side of the cave. Lucifer ignores Gabriel’s taunts. Gabriel huffs, worming his way in between Sam and Lucifer’s happy little reunion.

“What are you doing with _him_?” Sam points to the Trickster, who is now clinging to Lucifer’s side like a damn octopus. He is not jealous. No, he is not. The Lucifer freaking snuggles into the Trickster and Sam glares at them both-

“He is my brother.” Lucifer points at Gabriel.

“Brother?” Sam asks, incredulous. The Trickster is an Angel? Thinking of _brothers and Angels_ made something in him hurt and he pushes those thoughts away, focusing instead on Lucifer and the Trickster, still holding on to each other like they can’t let go-

“It’s _Gabriel_ , Samsquatch-” The Trickster grins at him, all teeth and waggling eyebrows, and Sam is mind-blown. His world view over the past few months has been flipped over and over. First Angels turn up, then Heaven became their enemy and Lucifer became their ally, then Dean got possessed and everything went to Hell. And the Trickster is an Archangel.

“Gabriel? As in the _Archangel_ Gabriel?” Sam couldn’t quite get the mental image of a smite-happy, golden-winged Angel he has constructed to line up with what he has seen of the Trickster. But then again, Lucifer is not exactly red and cloven-hooved, so Sam can’t judge.

“The one and only.” He sounded just as haughty as the Trickster. Angels really are not what Sam thought. Then again, vampires don’t sparkle and werewolves don’t walk around shirtless all day. At least he is shorter than him, Sam thought, and damn that thought is stupid, but he does need stupid thoughts to distract him from all the shit that is going on.

“I am actually the size of Mars!” The Trickster- Gabriel pouts at him, and Lucifer looks between them like he has no idea what to do. They all have no idea what to do.

“You are still shorter than me.” Sam deadpans, shuddering slightly at the wind whistling through the walls of the cave.

It’s a small cave, really. Lucifer and Sam took up most of the space here. They both have to bend there knees slightly to prevent their heads from hitting the ceiling and the stalactites hanging from the top of the cave smacks into their foreheads from time to time. They have no choice to huddle together. Gabriel plants his ass firmly down between Sam and Lucifer, the younger Archangel surprisingly warm, sharing his heat between his brother and the human.

Sam and Lucifer became a tangle of long limbs and Gabriel keeps shuffling around, attempting to find a relatively comfortable spot.

“Can’t you mojo up something?” Sam asks. It’s not like he is complaining. Gabriel is an Archangel. He seems to like candy and comfort. Why is he here holed up with them?

“Well,” Gabriel snarks, giving Sam the stink eye, and Sam wants to remind him of the times he offed Dean over and over again- better to not think about- “Considering you yahoos got me into this situation, it means that I can’t use my ‘mojo’ without risking Michael finding us-”

“Michael?” Lucifer frowns, reaching out to Sam, causing the three of them to topple onto the ground. “What about Dean- Is he-”

“Most likely _braindead_ right now.” Gabriel glares at Sam like it was his fault and San grabs him, slamming the shorter man onto the cave wall, Lucifer grabbing him from behind, trying to pull him away from Gabriel.

“Don’t you talk about Dean that way!” Sam yells, eyes red as _rage_ sinks it’s fingers into him and scrapes it’s influence into his skull. “You have no damn right to talk about Dean that way!”

“Why not!” Gabriel flings Sam away, so that he is the one pinned to the wall. “He did say yes to _Michael_ -”

“ _Fuck you_!” Sam screams back.

 

“Sam! Gabriel!” Lucifer shouts, his voice echoing as the other Archangel and human turned to look at him, slightly awed by the sight. Lucifer may have lost his memories, and he may have his powers bound, but at the moment, he oozed power and control. His eyes glowed white, and shadows of his wings covered the small cavern.

“We can’t fight. Not now.” The cave _shatters_ , rocks falling down to the ocean beneath as lightning cracks and Gabriel and Sam are flung to the farside of the cliff they stood on. The ground beneath their feet froze and the wind howls, as the cliff cracked further-

 

“Okay, okay!” Gabriel shouts, “We gotta run now!” He drags Lucifer and Sam by their arms, the three of them landing ungracefully on the floor of a motel room and began covering the walls with sigils immediately.

Lucifer breathes hard, the air around him crackling with lightning and smelling of ozone and ice. The temperature around him drops and droplets of ice forms in his hair and on his arms, a thin sheet of ice spreading out from beneath his feet and covering the carpet.

Sam flops down on one of the beds, covering his head with a pillow. He can talk with the Angels later. He is too damn tired and exhausted to do _anything_ but sleep.


	17. The Plotters and the Schemers

Zachariah is a smart man. Well, smart _Angel_ , actually. Which is why he skipped sides as soon as Michael disappeared. Well, he’s gotta lean against the _strongest_ , right? Rules of survival and all that. Pity all his younger brothers and sisters are too dumb and single-minded to even realize that Michael is out. Gone.

Raphael, now, there is one _scary_ mother right there. All fury and lightning, like Michael but without any of Michael’s _finesse_. Everything is fine, really. Zachariah can work with that. And his younger siblings, well, none of them can think for themselves, much, anyways. Ones like Anael and recently Castiel are anomalies. Rare occurrences. Well, then there is Naomi. Not exactly a particularly Angelic name. But kids these days- getting names like Hannah and Rachel and Naomi- what’s next, Bob and John the Angel?!

But he can admit that Naomi is one scary smart kid. _Too smart_. Can think for herself, too. Not to mention power hungry. Almost like a female version of Zachariah. He does not trust her- he is too smart to trust her and he knows that she is too smart to trust him, and Raphael manages to trust them, the poor bastard.

But he is an insanely powerful guy, that one. Which makes Zachariah even more pleased and he and Naomi are able to jerk his strings so well. Never gonna happen with Michael, after all. Ah, but he heard from a little bird that Lucifer is out of his cage.

And Anael has a weapon on her, a weapon that can kill Angels, and, knowing his little sister, she is probably going to shoot them all. Strong spirited, that one. Even before her fall. Always took a liking to the humans, for some reason. Zachariah can’t let that happen, after all. He needs to make Lucifer show up, even for a pretend Apocalypse. Here is the thing- him and Naomi? They don’t want the Apocalypse- bringing all things to an end? That would only upset the establishment. And Zachariah is _all about_ the establishment.

But Raphael? _Whew_ , that guy is all about the Apocalypse, and father’s _plan,_ and what not. Well guess what, daddy ain’t home, and Michael skipped off to la la land, and Zachariah is the best damn Angel they have being in charge. So, see, Zachariah and Naomi have this plan. The plan being getting rid of the Archangels(making it seem like they fought each other to non-existence, of course) which means the Seraphs are naturally in charge after such tragedy- the Seraphs being Zachariah and Naomi, of course.

As for which one, well, he has plans, and he would be an idiot if he thinks Naomi don’t have any plans for herself. As for now, well, Anael is a good runner. Real good, creative, too. Got those Enochian sigils carved onto the two hunters following her around. Really, does every fallen have two hunters following them around? There seems to be a pattern here. Oh well. That means he just has to look _harder_.

* * *

 

 

Despite what Zachariah may think, Raphael is no _idiot_. Well, he may seem to be one, to that slimey _businessman_ of an Angel, but Raphael hides well. Perhaps too well. He will have to remedy that. Of course, Raphael can just snap his fingers and destroy the Seraph.

That would look bad, and Raphael  absolutely refuses to make himself look bad. Randomly killing Angels will definitely make him look very bad. Zachariah may be one of the eldest Seraphim but Raphael is infinitely older. The younger Angel cannot possibly understand Raphael’s reasons.

The Apocalypse is merely the means to an end. He is tired, after all the damned fighting and warring in his family, and the previous warrs waged between Heaven and Hell’s forces he cannot wait anymore. God is gone, most likely dead and Raphael intends to end it all. They need a _new_ paradise, and he intends to make one- a new one, a better one.

After all, if their father does care, then he would have intervened long before Michael and Lucifer even began to fight. Or he would have struck Raphael dead on the spot for even having such blasphemous thoughts. But he did not and it just proves him right further.

He did feel it then, a crack of Lucifer’s power from the Pacific Ocean, of the coast of an island, an explosion, really. It seems like his dear brother has _finally_ came out to play. He flies there, noting the storm and the hail and the ice and lets out strikes of lightning, hoping to draw his brother out. He _loves_ Lucifer, he really does. After all, he was Heaven’s brightest, most beautiful.

They were quite similar, really. Raphael is thunder and lightning and Lucifer is storms and ice. Everyone loved Lucifer. Some, he thought of Gabriel, the _original_ missing Archangel, some loved Lucifer _more_ than the others. And when Lucifer fell and a third of Heaven ripped themselves away from the Host to follow him, not being able to stand living without his light.

Raphael was quite surprised that Gabriel did not show up just to follow Lucifer into the pits of Hell. Honestly, both him and Michael had been expecting Gabriel to.

 

By the time he has arrived Lucifer is gone, leaving behind only the after effects of an Archangel’s power lingering in the air. The sublte crackle of electricity, the slight displacement of the particles in the air and all that. Granted, it did not quite feel completely like Lucifer’s own powers. Traces of pagan magic lingers in the air as well, the trail disappearing in mid air.

Raphael will be sad when Michael eventually shows up to fight Lucifer. They are still related, after all. He wonders whether Gabriel, if the youngest Arch is still alive, would show up to the final show down. Probably, if he was alive. But as Gabriel has not been seen in thousands of years. Raphael would not count on it.

Lucifer and Gabriel’s relationship- ah, those were _the days_. Only the Archangels know the true nature of their relationship. Perhaps their father knew. Most likely he knew, but did nothing. Just like he did nothing with everything else. Relations between two Angels were not explicitly forbidden, but it was quite a taboo among the lower castes, and so Lucifer and Gabriel hid, sneaking off whenever they could. Michael’s idea. Raphael knows that the two of them did not quite care about how the others saw them.

Raphael must say that he enjoys the luxuries of human life. His vessel does look quite good when he is sharp dressed. The high life and all that, as those mud monkies would say. Wining and dining. He will be a little sad, maybe, when they are wiped out. But they are only _humans_.

No fear, he thinks. They can always start over again, with a new paradise, a new everything. Raphael’s vessel was a good man, if a man could be good. Ah well, it does not matter. His soul is in Heaven now. After all, Heaven, and all those places after life, is powered by souls.

Raphael sat in his new home on Earth. A bland, white, modern apartment. He knows how to live and masquerade as a human. He did watch the humans from when they are still crawling to the way they are now. He is not as clueless as some of his siblings about the inner workings of human life. There is a layer of _detachment_ there, he is an Archangel, but he can pretend. Most of these humans, even they are pretending.

For beings with such short lives, they spend an awful long time pretending.

His little brother and sister can plan and plot and scheme all they want. Big brother Raphael is watching them, after all. And he ain’t the forgiving type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows a somewhat bigger picture. Behind the scenes, if you will.


	18. Burning Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, sex scene at the end of the chapter, after the line split.

Dean jumps when he felt a familiar tug of power, just off an island in the pacific. Two familiar tugs of power, after all. Lucifer- his memories supplies, and Raphael. Two Archangels, their powers awfully similar. It was an explosion. One look at Castiel’s ashen face and Dean takes off, the younger Angel following him.

Lucifer was gone, and Raphael was no where to be seen. The explosion was big, powerful, and Dean can still taste the _familiar_ lightning mixture of Raphael and Lucifer’s fireworks show. The cliffside is completely _destroyed_. Pretty damn lucky the island was uninhabited, really.

Dean can feel traces of his brothers here, and magic and a little bit of Sam’s soul- being an Archangel still blows his mind from time to time, the way he knows _everything_ , the way he can feel everything around him, the molecules living and moving in tandem.

He can pinpoint the presence of any supernatural creature if he wishes to, but there are so many sources of life that they all pass him by, and it’s so easy, so damn incredibly easy to just not care anymore about anything, because something so vast and _ancient_ as him should not be able to _care_ \- Then he looks at Cas, _really_ looks at him and sees his grace burn brighter than anything Dean has ever seen before, brighter than his own grace- full of devotion and- heck, _love_ that is directed at him, at Dean, and Dean knows that it was there even before he regained his grace, only now Dean can see it and it almost overwhelms him- And he remembers why he fights, for free will and the continued existence of this world.

Because of people, like Cas and Sam and the souls they’ve saved together. Because all these people they’ve meet, like their dad and Bobby, because people try so hard to do their best in a world that is so _easy_ to do their worst. Because Cas _believes_ in him, and Dean will not let him down. Because when you focus on the big picture too much, you tend to lose sight of the small things- the ones that are _really_ worth saving. So, in a strange way, Dean thinks, it’s now Cas who is the one who grounds him. Funny how things turn out like that.

“Not here.” Dean tells Cas, the younger Angel still shaken by the display of Archangel power.

“Sam was praying to me.” Castiel tells Dean, trying to stay as far away from the lightning that is still cracking over head, even with the Archangels gone. He should tell Dean that Gabriel is still alive, that the youngest Arch, but there seems to be no right time and Dean needs to find Sam- And then Castiel tries to tell Dean about Gabriel and the words just cannot get out of his mouth, and he realizes that Gabriel must have placed a blockade, so that whenever Castiel wanted to speak his name he cannot-

There are still times when Castiel looks at Dean and sees Michael, see all the age behind the once too _human_ green eyes and it makes him want to turn and run away and never look back, but Castiel soldiers on for the man he pulled out of Hell. Just like he always has.

“What?!” Dean turns to Cas so fast that if he was not an Angel he would have definitely got whiplash. The words ‘Sam’ and ‘Praying’ were the loudest- Dean grabs Cas- “Where, Cas-” The volcanoe on the island exploded, and Dean and Castiel turns to stare as lava was flung into the air, from the chain of volcanoes beneath their feet and the sky lights up red and orange and the ocean by the islands start to steam-

“Dean, you have to _stop_!” Castiel begs, because it’s not Dean anymore, the ocean and volcanoes are reacting to Michael’s presence and Michael’s powers-

“I can’t!” Dean looks down at the mountains spurting red hot lava that flowed into the water and lit up the ground, from pretty much all the islands around the destroyed cliffside-

“Just get me out of here-” Castiel nods, taking Dean’s arm and pinpointing the last place he felt Sam calling out to him. Sam appears to be gone, no trace of him left, like he just vanished from the park.

“I can’t feel him.” Dean growls, poking around with his grace(Wow, isn’t that a weird thought, his grace), he pokes again, frustrated at not finding anything, not even a trace of what took Sam, because the trail his baby brother’s soul is gone(not his only baby brother now, wow) and Dean is pissed that he can't find Sam, like he just disappeared into thin air.

“I cannot feel him, either-” Castiel speaks up, and he tries to tell Dean that Gabriel could have taken Sam, perhaps, but the words are still blocked, the words are still blockd and Castiel can feel the frustration, this annoyingly human feeling creeping up his spine(his, now, and he feels his heart break for his vessel, his heart, now) “Someone took him.”

Dean kicks at a rock, and Castiel opens his mouth again, and his throat is blocked again. Gabriel did a good job at that one, he thought, slightly bitter that he could not help Dean(Dean, not Michael, just Dean plus more, he certainly acts more like Dean than how Castiel thinks Michael is like. Or perhaps Michael has always been more like Dean than he thought). Castiel can feel the bitter taste crawl into his mouth and settle at the tip of his tongue and refuse to leave. He wants to help Dean, with all he can because Castiel is fiercely loyal when he is committed, and he is committed, first to Heaven and now to _Dean_. And Castiel cannot help him, not when Dean needs it most.

Dean kicks at the rock again, thinking about Sam, Sam running away on him, Sam when he ran off the Stanford, and the parallels between his and Sam’s life and his and Lucifer’s life strikes him again, and he thinks of his father and the awful sense of humor he must have.

Except Michael would have never went to hell for Lucifer, and Dean thanks(what, his father?) for at least giving him this _humanity_ , and he thinks that it could have been the left over guilt for leaving Lucifer in the Cage- if it was, well, Hell in Hell then it must have been way worse in the Cage and he left Lucifer there for thousands of years, which would be hundreds of thousands of years down in Hell. Lucifer was not innocent, and Dean(Michael? Dean?) knows it, but he did not deserve that. Lucifer did make the first Demon, but the rest made themselves and Dean was almost glad that Lucifer cannot remember anything. Not Heaven, not Hell.

“Dammit.” He mutters, running his hand over the smooth surface of the impala’s hood, the familiar gesture oddly calming.

“Dean.” Cas asks, like he wants to say something but he can’t, and Dean understands all too easily. He leans against the car, and pulls Cas towards him, and pushes all the freaking complicated and frankly unwanted thoughts away from his mind.

“Hey, Cas,” He says, and Cas looks back and there is that feeling there again, and Dean knows that he can feel it, and he knows that Cas knows that he can feel it and he is pretty sure that Cas can feel it too. This tension in the air, when they touch or when they just look at each other, and it’s really not the right time, but since when is timing their thing and Dean pulls Cas closer and closes the gap between them.

This kiss is deeper than the last one, and no less desperate, just the two of them leaning against a classic car in the middle of the night in a park, both of them too damn afraid to do something, anything about this thing between them that is definitely spiralling out of control.

* * *

 

 

Dean tastes like fire, deep and rich and Castiel drowns in the smoky scent, deepening the kiss. Dean makes a low sound in his throat at that, and his tongue slips pass Castiel’s lips, a gentle intrusion that Castiel recipocates eagerly. It’s such a odd, human thing to do and he likes it, likes the way Dean looks at him, green eyes deepening with what must be lust, likes the way Dean’s looks lights a fire in his belly. He twists, moving and nudging his hips against Dean’s, more out of curiosity than the need for sexual gratification, but the way Dean growls against his mouth and tugs on his arm and grinds back definitely has effects on Castiel, and he makes a breathy moan.

“Not in the car,” Dean pulls away and Castiel was almost disappointed, but then Dean takes his hand and drags them halfway across the world, to another motel room.

“Honeymoon suite,” Dean winks, as if there is a great joke being told, and pushes Castiel down on the bed.

“ _Dean_ -” Castiel groans, moving his hips up to meet Dean’s. “Why are we still clothed-”

Dean laughs at that one, and kisses Cas again, lighter this time- God, is this what sex is really like? All the _electricity_ , the feeling of being completely intoxicated with each other, like he is drowning in their _completeness_ and they haven’t even gotten to the _actual_ sex part. He waves his hand and their clothes came off, and they were naked and moaning and grinding, but it was _more_ than that.

Dean reaches out with his wings, large and blinding and wrapped them around Cas’s smaller wings, metaphorical feathers stroking away at each other. His grace and Cas’s grace entwines with each other as their lengths touched and grinded against each other. Dean wraps a hand around their members, and Cas’s fingers grips tight against his back. Dean pushes in, letting his grace brush against Cas’s and it’s like sparks flying literally, behind his eyelids as he enters the tight heat, Cas wrapping his legs around his waist, his back and wings arching and Dean thrusts, their connection growing stronger and enroaching dangerous territory.

 _Fuck dangerous territory_ , Dean thinks as he jerks Cas off, hearing the Angel moan and buck into his hand, his uncharacteristically bright grace lighting up at Dean’s touches. When Cas comes he tightens around Dean and Dean buries himself even deeper, letting Cas’s grace glow as he comes as well, like a thousand fireworks as their entwined graces light up in unison.

Dean wants to say something later, like ‘best damn orgasm ever.’ He leans into Cas instead, letting them fall against each other in comfortable silence. His Angel. And he knows he doesn't have to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First attempt at a sex scene that is not smut.


	19. I, Gabriel

“So,” Sam says to Gabriel, the trickstering Archangel, as he hauls Lucifer’s unconscious ass onto one of the beds. “Tell me again why you are not helping me with this?”

“Because,” Gabriel drawls, leaning against the wall. He did nearly lose it in front of Samsquatch when Lucifer dropped on them, just collapsed right on the spot after covering half the room in ice, “I like watching you work.” He winks. Well, there are some truths. Sammy is quite _nice_ looking for a human guy. And his soul ain’t bad, either. All bright and glowy, under the demon blood.

“Shut it.” Sam growls, not bothering to turn and glare. Lucifer is pretty damn heavy, being just an inch shorter than Sam and in pretty good shape. Well, his vessel is, but that guy ain’t there anymore, according to Gabriel. He finally heaves Lucifer on the bed, so that he lies face down and passed out, face pressed into the pillow. Sam flops onto the other bed.

“Hey!” Gabriel moves closer, “I need sleep too!”

“You’re an Angel.” Sam retorts. “You don’t _need_ sleep.” And somewhere out there Michael is hunting them wearing Dean’s face through the night-

“Doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to, big guy.” Gabriel retaliates by planting his ass on Sam’s stomach.

“Oof-”

“Humph.”

“Get off me. Now.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“Nope.”

Sam groans loudly, flipping over and pushing Gabriel so that he fell on the floor with an ‘oompf’

“You know,” Gaabriel says from the floor, suddenly serious and Sam lets him hop on the bed again, even if it is a single and Sam is already too tall for it and Gabriel takes up more space than someone his size should.

“Hey!” Gabriel pouts, and Sam thinks he probably read his thoughts, “It’s not about the size, it’s about the skill!” Sam snorts at that, bursting into easy laughter shortly after, and the blond Archangel laughes too, snuggling(heh, snuggling) up into Sam’s larger frame.

“How did you and Luci meet, anyways?” Gabriel slings an arm across Sam’s stomach, casual like they’ve known each other for years and Sam thinks that it’s nice, comforting in some weird way that at least this guy and Lucifer don’t just look at him and think ‘freak.’ Even if they meet each other under less than desireable circumstances.

“Well,” Sam thinks back, cheeks burning slightly, “Me and Dean(ouch, Dean)...kinda, crashed into him.”

“Crashed.”

“Yeah.” Sam grins nervously, slinging an arm around Gabriel. Somehow, the Archangel seems less hostile than he was when he was the Trickster, his gaze softer and his demenor easier to approach. He made Sam feel comfortable, like all his defenses and the walls in his head came tumbling down.

“Are you doing something to my head?” Sam asks, cause someone he could say he just met should not be able to make him feel this relaxed and strangely defenseless. Gabriel freezes and Sam regrets those words immediately.

“I mean-”

“I’m not doing anything, if that’s what you’re asking. I mess with people, not their heads.”

Right, Sam wants to say. Like killing Dean for all those tuesdays didn’t mess with his head. “Find something to say, this is getting awkward.” Gabriel mutters.

“Right. Did Milton get anything right?” Sam asks, steering the conversation away from Angelic mojo and Dean and Michael. “I mean, about the fall and such.” It’s not like he could ask Lucifer, considering that he is still out cold and amnesic. And Sam had read his fair share of Milton back in his college days.

“Luce did say better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven.” Sam turns to look at Lucifer, his short blond hair falling over the pillow, sticking up in all directions. He would not have been able to imagine him being the Angel that got a third of Heaven to rebel, until last night. Lucifer destroyed the cliff side, freezing over the entire island, eyes burning blue, and Sam can imagine someone like that attracting flocks of Angels willing to fall for him. Different from how Sam first found him, all soft edges and light framing his hair. He looked beautiful then, every bit the Morning Star. Sam is starting to think that Lucifer will look beautiful no matter what. And suddenly it's not so hard to imagine those words coming out of his mouth anymore.

“Oh.” Sam shifts again, taking his eyes off Lucifer. His leg grew numb under Gabriel’s body, which had somehow found it’s way into his lap. “Uh.” Sam. “Can you get off me?” He is a man, a _human_ man, and there are certain _reactions_. Especially when another warm body is so close and it’s been so long since he last-

“Me an’ Luce used to do this.” Gabriel yawns, leaning against Sam and Sam sweats, attempting to will his arousal away. It didn’t help that Gabriel is fairly attractive and, at that moment, Sam may be a little in lust with the Archangel.

“Yeah?”

“I had to leave Heaven, you know. Before Luce fell.” Gabriel was suddenly awake, and Sam pays attention to his words, eyes widening.

“Can you listen to a story, Sammy? I just wanna tell a story.”

“Yeah. I can.” Sam nods. His curiosity screams out, wanting to drink every word in and hang on to every detail Gabriel gives. Sam always wanted to know more, to learn more.

“If I didn’t leave,” Gabriel says, thinking back to the old days, “I woulda fell with Luce. Rip myself straight from Heaven, too. No regrets. You know _why_?”

“Why?” Sam asks, feeling as if he knew the answer already.

“Cause I love him, Samsquatch.” Gabriel sighs, turning to look at Lucifer. “ _More_ than any other Angel did. And I had him, too.” They ran off together, in between the shaping of stars and let their graces mingle, pure energy against pure energy in the dark of the universe. And Gabriel ran off, on his own, because he couldn’t _stand_ seeing Lucifer and Michael fight, because he knew Michael was going to win and Lucifer was going into a cage and he couldn’t stand his heart breaking.

“Oh.” Sam pauses. He could understand what Gabriel said, leaving or else he would have fell, but there is an undertone there, like something more was left unsaid. “ _Oh_.” And he understands.

“Yeah, oh.” Gabriel laughs. “See, when Gabe and Luce love each other very much, things tend to get, ah, _steamy_.” Bury it under humor. Just what Gabriel does best.

Sam’s mind conjures up images of Gabriel and Lucifer, all tangled limbs and heated breathes and finds his blood rushing down south and his face burning.

“Uh.” He lets out a strangled little sound, lightly pushing Gabriel off him so that the Archangels did not...feel anything. Gabriel laughs, and Sam turns even redder, remembering that, oh, yeah, Angels can read minds.

“I’m not reading your mind, Samsquatch,” Gabriel moves off him, and Sam almost want to protest at the lack of contact. “You’re just projecting.” He waggles his eyebrows.

 

 

“I loved him a lot, you know.” Gabriel walks off, elbows on the windowsill as he looks out of the window. “So much that I had to run away cause I couldn’t bare to watch him _fall_.” He shrugs. Lucifer taught him how to fly, and for the longest time it was just the two of them, with Michael spending more and more time with their father. And he wasn't even there to watch his brother fall.

“That makes me pretty cowardly, doesn’t it, big guy?”

“You’re not-” Sam sits up, looking over at Gabriel, who seems so small at the moment, and his chest tightens for the Archangel. “A coward.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Gabriel adds more wards to the windows and walls. Just in case. This is probably the safest motel room in the world, now.

“He doesn’t remember?” Sam asks, turning over at Lucifer. Stupid question, of course Lucifer didn’t remember. He couldn’t.

“Yep. And he’s better off for it.”

“You’re not going to tell him?”

“Nah.” Gabriel flicks the light off, and Sam went to sleep after lying in bed for hours, thoughts filled with Angels and Heaven and _falling_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I make Gabriel not funny enough? I always thought that he would be a bit more than comic relief, considering the backstory and all that.


	20. you've got a friend in me

“Gee, thanks.” Meg comments drily at the Angel and two hunters. “Why are you kidnapping me, again?”

“Look.” Ellen starts. “ _We_ ,” Anna and Jo looks to speak, but one glare from the seasoned hunter shut them up. Good. “Want to know about where Lucifer is.”

“Loki. I _told_ you. If you can't find em just means you're the useless ones.” Meg looks up at the devil’s trap painted on the ceiling. “Did you really have to do all this?” She gestured. “I’m honored. Honestly.”

Jo splashed holy water on the Demon and Meg spins her head around, eyes bleeding black. Demons always creeped her out, the way they seem to know every dirty dark secret you have. And things have been pretty damned strange lately. Lucifer is real, and she is hunting the Devil with her mom and an Angel. According to said Angel Sam and Dean needs to stay the fuck out of all this because they will fuck it up. Her words, not the Angel’s. Not like Anna has been telling them much, only carving Angel mojo on their ribs and telling them to stay hidden. But Jo figures that since they are going after _Satan himself_ , details can wait. They’ve been on hunts with less information given, after all. The search for Lucifer so far has been pretty damn useless, and the Angel and humans are becoming more paranoid and easy to rile up.

In some cases, that was a good thing. Anna grabbed them and took off at the sound of wind by the windows. “Naomi,” She hisses, the hunters and Angel dropping into a large field, sending bleeting sheep scuttling away. Meg looks out of the window flatly, the shattering glass breaking the devil’s trap.

The Angels desended on them, clad in suits and swords out, a stiff looking woman at their helm. She could have been the C.E.O of any big company, with cold eyes and a cold smirk gracing thin lips.

“Anael.”

“It’s _Anna_ , now.” Anna pulls out her sword. She could see her brothers and sisters around them, some she knows and some she did not. They were all acting as Heaven’s obidient little soldiers, following orders, soldiering on without ever opening their eyes and just look. Just look at the world.

“Humanity has poisoned you, sister.” Naomi is as cold and impersonal as ever, Heaven’s chief interrogator, though Anna prefers the term torturer. And she knows the insides of Heaven’s prison walls all too well. Heaven is a prison in itself, really. Ever since Lucifer fell it became twisted and turned until the Angels became cold, emotionless beings like Naomi. Or perhaps Naomi has always been like this.

“Humanity has done nothing but teach me, Naomi.” Anna answers, holding her head up, high and proud. And then the Angels explode into battle, and Ellen and Jo are immediately separated from Anna and each other. Anna was good, but there are more than she can handle.

They can only run for so long and Naomi caught up, because when Naomi wants something then she _gets_ it. Her sword is out, and the colt clutched tightly to her chest. She cannot let them get it- it’s her last hope, of ending the Apocalypse before it can start. Her siblings swoop in.

 She takes her sword, pulling Jo away from the one Angel that lunged at her, and flew as far away from the humans as she could. They were light, all of them and they charged. Anna held her ground. She was a Garrison leader, in another life and this is what she does, battle is in her blood. She plunges a sword through a brother's chest, then another. She did not like killing other Angels, but she did not need to like it. Only thing that matters is that she did it. She sends the hunters far, far away.

The battle was hard, like all battles are, the blood from the vessels spilling and the smell of grace in the air. Even Naomi joins the battle, all strategy and grace. But Anna has something better. She has instinct. She plays her siblings, false moves and lets them fall on each other's swords. She could tell that they were tracker Angels, bureaucrats, perhaps. They can fight, but they cannot fight like she does.

Dimly, Anna wonders why Naomi did not bring warriors. But the Garrisons, she realizes as another brother yelled his death cry, must be raising Apocalyptic signs, the witnesses and war and pestilence. Heaven is like Hell in that aspect, and Naomi manages to get a hit onto her stomach.

Anna growls, turning and fighting with all her might, but the sword twists in her grace and she did all she could to keep it together as Naomi took the colt from it's hiding place, leaving her vessel bloodied.

She screams, tearing away from her siblings as they took off to Heaven, thinking that she will be dead.

 

 

“Run!” Ellen and Jo are thrown away, the air displaced around them, crashing down into another field, a thousand miles away.

“Mom?” Jo asks, pushing herself up from the ground.

“Joanna-” They pick themselves up.

“Where are we?”

“Don’t know. Looks like the Angel sent us away.” Ellen wipes the blood away from her face. “C’mon, we need to hitch a ride. Preferably to Bobby’s.”

“Why’d she send us away?” Jo asks. There is a cut on her belly, long and thin and gushing blood. It looks worse than it really is, and she remembers the Angel pulling her away just as the blade sliced through. And she _gets_ it. Cause no matter what, Jo and her mom are humans and they will always get in the way of Angel business. Still kinda hurt.

“Why do you think?” Ellen snaps back and Jo grins. Just like old times, then. Saving people, hunting things. The family business.

“Yeah, mom. I get it. Lets haul ass to Bobby’s, then.” And hopefully come back for their Angel.

“Language, young lady.”

 

Anna drops down in front of them like a sack of bricks, and the two women swore and jumps back.

“Shit, Anna, you okay?!” Jo peers down, and the Angel grunts in pain, fingers clasped over the wound in her midsection leaking light.

“That’s it, we gotta go to Bobby’s.” Ellen orders, and they wish that the Roadhouse was still there, but Bobby’s salvage yard is as good a home for them as any and Jo hauls Anna up, slinging the Angel’s arm over her shoulder after Ellen patches them both up, wrapping pieces of cut off cloth over their wounds. They stumble out of the field into a street, the fields giving way to the road and electrical lights blinks by the horizon.

“Never before have I been so relieved about light pollution,” Jo grumbles.

“Shut it and walk.” Ellen orders as they marched on. Hell, the three of them, they’re a team. And a damn good hunting team at that. The Angel sure as hell helped a damn lot. “When this Apocalyptic bullcrap is over-” Ellen starts. “Think we can still stay a team?”

“If you will still have me.” Anna looks up, shifting away some of the weight from Jo’s shoulder. “I will gladly join you both.”

“Course we’ll have you.” Jo grins. "We make a mean team."

“You’re goddamn right.” Ellen nods. And they all laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love!
> 
> (Anna hid the colt like Cas hid the tablet in s8)


	21. Road Trippin'

“Ay, Cas!” Dean pushes the sleeping Angel up. Seems like last nights activities did tire them both out.

“Dean?” Castiel wakes up. Another human thing he picked up from Dean- sleeping. Dean is Michael, an Archangel and yet he is so much more human than Castiel and there are times when Castiel cannot fathom how he, such a lowly Angel soldier from the Garrisons could have this with someone like Dean(like Michael, but Castiel knows that it is Dean that he would follow to the end of the world.)

Dean stumbles into the shower with Cas, fully intent on showing him the pleasures of a nice, hot shower in the morning, and maybe something more, if he gets lucky. Knowing angelic stamina, he probably will get lucky.The water is nice and warm and it’s the best damn shower he had since forever. The fact that he _did_ indeed get lucky helps, of course.

 

“We should go to Bobby’s.” Dean said over the stack of pancakes, mouth still full. Hey, he may be an Archangel but old habits die hard. “Explain our situation, and all. I mean, if we can’t find- mmf- Sam this way, then maybe he can, y’know, helpf.”

“Dean, you should finish before you speak.” Cas stares at him, looking halfway between fascinated and horrified. Dean shrugs, stuffing his face again. Food, o glorious food.

“Where exactly are we, anyways?” Dean looks around the ihop. He vaguely remembers dragging Castiel away last night but distance can get a little hazy when you got the world at your fingertips. Great, now he sounds like one of those smartphone commercials. Dean shudders at the thought.

“Detroit.” Castiel answered. “I looked at the signs.”

“Whew.” Dean whistles, polishing off the rest of the pancakes. “12 hour drive. Hey Cas, you up for a road trip?”

“We can just fly there.” Castiel frowns.

“Nah. One last road trip before shit goes down, eh?” Dean grins, straining his face. Just twelve hours. Him and Cas and the car, and then they set off to find Bobby and Sam and Lucifer and stop the Apocalypse.

Cas nods. “You wish for the familiarity that traveling on road would bring.” Castiel nods. “I can understand that.”

"Right. Then.” Dean coughs awkwardly. Cas never seems to be able to stop saying stuff like that. They move into the impala, and Dean shoves Cas in the shotgun seat so it won’t look so damn empty. Turns out Cas fits pretty well there, after all. Dean begins to drive as the rain falls. Detroit moves behind them as the rain cleared.

 

Normally, Dean hated driving in silence. He would talk to Sam, or have music playing, or do anything to distract himself from the quiet. The only times he drove in quiet was the worst times in his life. Like when Sam left for Stanford and Dean drove him to the bus stop. The night after Sam died and Dean dragged his body into the car. But with Cas’s silent companionship made driving in the silence bearable. Almost _comfortable_ , even. He decides not to break the moment.

Castiel stares out of the glass, as the cityscape and falling rain gave way to tentative clouds and light grey-blue skies. Seeing things from a human perspective amazes him, even after all this time. The people hurrying in the streets. He sees a woman hand an umbrella to a homeless man and he smiles. Humans. They are capable of such gestures of kindness.

They leave the boarders of the city. Instead of a highway Dean has opted to take a smaller road. Castiel is once again struck by his bond with Dean. They way their graces burned together. It was that moment that Castiel understood that even though Dean is Michael, Dean is not like Michael. There is something more that just light and Heavenly fury. There is want and sin, all too human and lust and love and the need to guard and protect. And they are bonded, in more than one way, from the moment Castiel touched Dean’s still human soul in Hell. Castiel lets his lips fall into a smile as joy wells up in his grace. They may not belong in Heaven anymore, but they _belong_ with each other, and with Sam, and the other humans and maybe even Lucifer, in this small family unit of theirs. And that is enough, Castiel thinks. That is enough.

 

The rain clouds part way for sunshine when Dean stops at a gas station. “Hey Cas!” He calls, albit courageously. “You wanna fill ‘er up?” One look at Cas’s signature head tilt told Dean that the other Angel has exactly zero ideas about what he meant.

“Like” Dean made a gesture, that made the Michael side of him groan at it’s ridiculousness. _Shut up_ , he told himself. _We are the same person_. “Like.” Dean waves again, pointing at the pumps, waving frantically again. “This.” He waves again, desperately holding in his laughter. And failing.

“Oh God- oh- I haven’t laughed this hard since- since-” He hasn’t laughed this hard since he was soaring through the skies, teaching his newly made siblings how to fly. Was Castiel one of them? He cannot recall. “Shit, _Cas_ -” Dean pushes his memories of Heaven away. “C’mere.”

Castiel would have protested at Dean laughing at him, but he could hear no malice in Dean’s laughter, only amusement aimed at both Castiel and Dean himself, so Castiel grins back.

Dean made him drink coffee from the gas station, saying that no road trip experience is complete without gas station coffee, and is suitably horrified at the amount of sugar Castiel consumed. It seems that all Angels have a penchant for sweet things rather than savory.

Dean figures that driving in the night without a case in sight is way better than he thought. He did talk with Cas, bits and pieces and when the silence falls it was natural and comfortable and shit- something this good can’t last very long, not for someone with his luck, cause Cas really is too good for him, damn it.

He ignores these thoughts and focuses on staring at the stars with his snazzy new Angel vision instead. Heck, he’s made some of them himself, along with the other Archangels. And here he is, left on his own. And when they sit out together by the car at the side of the road, just to make this experience last longer, Dean pulls Cas closer when the younger Angel leaned against his shoulder. Not so alone, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some destiel fluff for your Christmas needs! 
> 
> Merry Christmas everybody!


	22. Heart Eyes

“Goddammit Bobby you old fool! _Open up_!” Ellen raps at the door. It’s a damn near miracle the three of them got this far. It took them three hours, several payphones, and the stunned patrons of a roadside diner and stealing a truck off the side of the road for them to get from that field to Sioux Falls. Where Anna promptly fell over by the entrance, stating that there are Angel warding in the door way.

“Ellen? Jo?” Bobby opens the door with a shotgun. “What are you two- get in here- what the hell-” He exclaims at the state of their injuries.

“Wipe the Angel wardings first, Bob- got an Angel with us.” Ellen points to Anna with her thumb.

Bobby nods. If Ellen says the Angel can be trusted, then he will do it. But hell, he is pretty goddamn worries for Sam, and the boy(His boys, they are both his boys), and he hasn’t heard anything from him for days, with the Apocalypse going on-

 “Get in here,” He wheels himself in, wiping bits and pieces of the seals away as Ellen and Jo carries the Angel in. Ellen carries Anna onto the couch, and Jo went to fix the Enochian sigils with Bobby’s gruff instructions.

“Why the-” Ellen waves to the sigils, downing a drink and wincing as Jo replaces the blood soaked bandages on her arm. “Precautions? I thought the boys have an angel friend, or something like that. Two Angel friends, if what you said bout Lucifer is true.”

At least that means they no longer have to search for Lucifer, Anna mumbles from the couch and Jo pats her back and hands her a fifth of whiskey. Kids. They grow up fast.

Bobby grumbles and downs his drink. Ellen and Jo showing up like this. A chain of islands in the Pacific getting frozen after a freak storm only to have _all_ the volcanoes explode.  All over the news. And all at the same fuckin’ time. Various Apocalyptic symptoms cropping up all over the place. People in Michigan turning up with Swine Flu all over the place. That stuff ain’t _natural_ , and Bobby is willing to bet on the Apocalypse being behind all this.

“Michael’s here.”

“The Archangel?”

Bobby nods grimly. “He wants the Apocalypse bad. Real bad. And he’s wearing Dean.”

“Dean is _possessed_?” Ellen slams her glass down. No good. No good at all. Jo and the Angel are now passed out on the couch. She would have to ask Anna about Michael tomorrow it seems.

“That idjit.” Bobby answers and it’s the only answer they need.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean hits a roadblock somewhere in between Detroit and Sioux Falls. More of a case than a roadblock, really.

“Two lovers,” He points to the papers. “ _Ate_ each other to death. On Valentines day, no less.” He grimaced at the description. “Sounds suspicious to you?”

Castiel nods, frowning. “Should we not prepare for the Apocalypse?” He asks. They have noticed the signs. It’s not quite obvious as rains of fires and locusts, but obvious enough for them to know that it is not _natural_.

“Well, it’s coming along, nothing we can do about it.” Dean shrugs. “Might as well save some people and hunt some things along the way, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cas nods, like everything Dean says makes some great cosmic sense to him. “I get it.” God, the quotation marks around them can be heard, and Dean snickers.

“C’mon, Cas. Let’s go!” Dean pumps his fists into the air. He should be searching for Sam and Lucifer. He knows he should be but people are _dying_ , dammit, and Dean still cares too much to ignore this in hope of another hunter picking this up. Besides, there is just something about the circumstances surrounding this case that picks at him, like there is something that he should know but he does not. “My Michael senses are tingling. Tells me that this case might have something to do with our case.” _Our case_ being the Apocalypse, and what a clusterfuck that one is.

“Michael senses?” “Spider man. You know, like a spidey sense?”

“I do not understand why a man-arachnid hybrid has anything to do with you.”

“Never mind, Cas, never mind.” Dean parks the impala and they check into the motel, now decorated with flowers and hearts and horrid shades of pink in liu of Valentines day. Eugh. Even the Michael part of his shuddered at the sheer amount of pink. And yeah, sure, it might be unhealthy to separate himself into ‘Dean’ and ‘Michael,’ but no one is pointing fingers and calling him crazy just yet, so Dean counts this as a job well done.

“We gotta start on your pop culture education when this is over, Cas.”

 

 

Turns out that when it said they ate each other to death, it really meant that they _ate_ each other to death.

“Ew.” Dean states, poking at the body parts. “Barely anything left, man.”

“I’ve searched,” Castiel pokes at the intestines with his finger. “There seems to be no hex bags, or any curse of any kind.”

“We can rule witches outta this, then.” Dean watches with morbid fascination as Cas sniffs the corpse. He could probably do it, if he is still full Angel and all that but the basic human response against grossness is still in him. That’s probably a good thing, Dean reckons. Michael needs Dean. Michael needs to be Dean, and be with Castiel. Being Dean keeps things in _perspective_. And with the ingrained need to follow the plan and the orders playing at him, he needs perspective more than anything.

“Be my Valentine?” Dean pushes the heart towards Cas when he noticed the carved symbols. “Hey, wait-” He pulls Cas over before the other Angel could answer. “Check these out.”

Dean recognizes the symbols on the hearts. Of course he does. But that would mean- nah, _no way_.

“This is the work of a rogue cupid.”

“Rogue cupid.” Dean answers flatly. It shouldn’t be funny. He knows what cherubs do. But it sounds so damn funny. Rogue cupid.

“Yes, a _rogue cupid._ ” Castiel answers. Why is Dean laughing? This is a serious situation.

“Right. Let’s go check out the rogue cupid, then.” Dean pats Cas on the back, pants suddenly too tight at the intense look in Cas’s eyes. Goddamn, they are so _blue_ , and the white of the walls just makes them stand out more. Dean coughs, stepping away.

Where the Hell did _that_ come from? No way he is getting frisky in a mortuary. But the way heat is radiating off Cas- Dean narrows his eyes. Something is not right here, like all his inhibitions regarding Cas is particular is switching off. He has a feeling that what is at work here is more than just a rogue cupid.

 

That thought is proven by meeting the man himself. The cherub sobbed at Cas’s accusations, hugged them, cried some more, hugged them again and flew off.

 

“Well that was productive.” Dean grumbles, steering himself away from Cas. Definitely not the cherub, then. Something else is at work here. “C’mon, Cas. We got work to do.” Cas nods, face all serious and eyes so bright that it hurts. Work, Dean, _work_. He reminds himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! Your regularly scheduled Sam, Gabe and Luce will be back soon, but the plot must go on. :)
> 
> p.s I just wanna rec this really good samifer and destiel fic by redmasque it's so good everyone go read it.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/2556833/chapters/5684555


	23. Dream brother, my lover

Gabriel may seem calm, and as happy as a clam, no matter how unhappy those things seemed, but he is most assuredly not happy. Or calm. At all. Now that Samsquatch has passed out Gabriel begins his long process of panicking, which usually ended badly, since the last time he panicked like this was right before Lucifer fell. Father, he remembered that day all _too_ well.

Heaven was falling apart at it’s seams ever since the war started, and so was Gabriel’s relationship with Lucifer. They were so _close_ , they were so close and it _hurts_ to see his brother raging on and on about humanity. Gabriel liked the humans, for all their faults. He could see their potential, something that none of the other Angels seem to be able to do.

Gabriel tried to talk to him, he really did but no matter how hard he tried, how many times he flew back and forth from Michael to Lucifer to Michael and back they would never _listen_. He would fly until the feathers tear off his wings and Raphael drags him back until they were healed, and he would fly again and again and again. He talked until his throat was sore and raw and they pushed him aside time and time again.

Gabriel never gave up. But the war went on. Michael became colder, harsher, demanding Gabriel to choose either him or Lucifer, and Gabriel could not. Lucifer is his lover and Michael their eldest brother and he loves them both. He remembers Michael’s sword at the tip of his throat, the first Archangel in a fit of rage with Gabriel on his knees and Raphael holding him back. If not for Raphael, Gabriel would have been dead. But even their healer drew his sword and joined the war. There is no escape, and with both Michael and Lucifer pressuring him to join a side, the first thought of leaving graced Gabriel’s mind.

It scared him. It scared him so much. Heaven was his home, he belonged, with Lucifer and the other Archangels. This is a war, a full out war with sides and family tearing each other apart, fledglings barely knowing how to fly taking up swords. The first Angel to die died in the war. The first Angel to fall fell in the war. And no matter how much Gabriel begged their father refused to step in, like he _planned_ for this all along and maybe he did. Gabriel made sure he left no sign of himself behind, opting to fly away from the backdoor of Heaven as fast as possible until he finds a vessel, and then he flew some more.

 

It took years, years until he found another home Asgard and Frigga and Odin, and even more years before he made sure that this realm cannot be reached by Heaven, not even through the rainbow bridge. They took him in, became his family, replaced the space left behind in his mind, but it will never be

the same. Still, Gabriel took to his new life as a trickster like fish to water. But then he had to leave. There is always a but. It was during the rise of Christianity that Gabriel returned to Earth, wave after wave of prayers calling out to him, observed as humans became prophets bound by their times and traditions.

As the demonized one brother and worshiped the others. As they slaughtered each other in the name of faith and land and wealth. He learned then, of Lucifer’s final fate, one even worse than his exile. Gabriel had suspicions back in the halls of Asgard, a voice whispering in the back of his mind that he should at least check on Lucifer, know what Michael will do to him because it was clear that Michael would win, with their father on his side, ordering the Angels to bow down to the humans.

He pushed them to the back of his mind, opting to stay in the comforts of ignorance, playing pranks on the royal courts as he forgot, slowly but surely. He stood at the edge of the cage then, whispers of Devil, Devil chanted by the prayers, as Gabriel shouldered the sheer hate humans sent to his brother. He grew bitter, then. Bitter and playful as he disguised himself as Loki, the Trickster God King who punished the hurtful in fanciful, demeaning ways. It was a sort of revenge, in a way.

Gabriel, at this point, is torn about whether he wants Lucifer to gain his memories back. Without it, he is free, from the burden their family brings. But all those memories, with Gabriel and the others and Gabriel in particular, the good ones, they will be gone too and in the end Gabriel will be the only one who remembers them.

 

Sam Winchester falling off the bed shakes Gabriel from his thoughts.

“Ow.” Sam groans.

“Ha.” Gabriel snickers. Better to focus on the now rather than the past, eh?

Sam rubs his eyes. For a moment there, he was back on any other case at some backwater town’s only shitty motel, running with Dean and hunting whatever monster they have on their trails. For a moment there, things were simple. The old days. And then he remembers all the shit that has happened and the moment breaks.

“Mornin’ to you too, sunshine.” Gabriel looks entirely too awake and entirely too smug for Sam to not want to punch in right on that grin. Not that it would do any good. He might even break his hand.

Once he did shower(and was assaulted by Gabriel’s awful singing from outside the door) and set off to make himself coffee, Sam begins the usual process of finally waking up.

“Why is he still asleep?” Sam frowns from where he sits, sipping the coffee from a cup that looked far to small for his hands. Gabriel shrugs.

“Probably have something to do with the memory blockades, or something.”

"Memory blockades?" 

"Dad probably put it there." Gabriel sniffs, suddenly bitter about all this again. He loves his Father, he really does- he could not not love him, but he is so cryptic about everything he does. 

"God blocked Lucifer's memories? But why?" Sam finishes the rest of his shitty coffee, and pokes Lucifer. Unresponsive. He pokes the sleeping Angel again.

"It's probably a test, or something." Gabriel shrugs. It's always a test. Everything is a test to his father. Nothing new here to see, move along.

"Oh." 

"We better run along, Sammy. Can' t have Mikey find us." 

Gabriel whistles and steps out of the door, leaving Sam to heave Lucifer up all by himself and drag him out of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somedays writing is just so hard.


	24. Push, Pull

And suddenly, Lucifer remembers. Well, not all of it, but he does remember. Bits and pieces, flashes of strong emotion assaulting him from all ends. This is more than a dream, he can tell. There are cracks, cracks in the restraints his father set on him. He tries to break the seals, but the pain keeps him away. His father- so it was his father that spoke to him last time he dreamed.

His presence, his _lack_ of presence, it comes in bits and pieces and Lucifer loses most of the pieces, but the sheer ecstasy of being in his father’s presence and being around his brothers and the pain of the fall, and he grasps at the pieces and comes away empty handed. Most of the time, Lucifer stood there scratching away at the sigils and his hands come away bloody but the painted symbols of his father’s power remains, _mocking_ him and locking his memories away behind closed doors.

The doors fade away into the Cage, newly built and there is Michael, Michael standing above him with righteous fury etched into his face and Lucifer knows who Michael is but why Michael is doing this escapes him.

“Lucifer, Lucifer!” A voice calls, tugging at him. A warm golden glow settles against his cold.

“Gabriel!” He calls back. A constant presence. Gabriel. But then there was the war, a war that his mind did not recall but his instincts did. Michael meant _danger_ and Gabriel meant _his_ and Raphael meant brother. It was like his mind is being torn to pieces, memories fighting to resurface, against the cage the sigils put them in. And Lucifer is torn between wanting to know more and wanting to know nothing.

More meant reopening old wounds and uncovering things he did not want to know. More meant uncertainty, but there is a sudden _thrill_ in uncertainty.

But nothing, nothing signified freedom, of a sort. Nothing is _lighter_ , more bearable, the easy way to go. More, or nothing?

He lets himself fall.

 

 

 

“Why is he still like that?” Sam asks, eyeing Lucifer’s slumped form in the battered sedan Gabriel got from somewhere. He either conjured it or stole it, but whenever Sam asks, the infuriating Archangel just winks and wags his finger like it’s some great secret.

“What?” Gabriel finishes off his food alarmingly fast. Sam winces at syrup covered bacon. Dean would hate that.

“Lucifer.” Sam lowers his voice. “It’s been two days and he’s _still_ passed out.”

“I dunno.” Gabriel shrugs. These humans and their food. So inventive. But by the gods does he still miss the feasts that Asgard held thousands of years past.

 “But-”

“I _don’t_ know.” Gabriel points the fork at Sam. “Now stop talking, Samsquatch, and let me eat in peace, kay?” And he really does not know. He would have expected Lucifer to wake up, at least, still the blank slate he is now, still too painful to look at but at least awake and he can’t help but panic, again and again-

“Okay.” Sam sighs, drumming his fingers against the polished plastic surface of the table, shifting against the hard plastic seat, legs cramped uncomfortably against Gabriel’s. For an Archangel, his taste is far less refined than Sam would imagine. It’s hard, doing this. This being _nothing_ because Sam can do nothing.

Dean is being possessed by Michael and Sam did nothing. He ponders, over and over again about _what_ could have driven Dean to say yes but the answer just would _not_ come, some twisted game he keeps playing against himself. He did practically nothing when Lucifer got taken and he can’t do anything about Lucifer being unresponsive now. Sam would like to think that him and Lucifer were somewhat friends, at least. Not like Sam is much of a good friend.

“Tone down the self-loathing, Sammy. I can’t eat.” Gabriel grumbles, stabbing at his breakfast. The human is practically broadcasting his feelings all over, and although Gabriel is not actively reading his mind he can still feel Sam’s self doubt and it reminds him too much of himself to be comfortable. Sam throws a glare at Gabriel.

“Just finish and go.”

 

 

“I should drive.” Sam protests when Gabriel reaches for the door.

“Why?” Gabriel turns, leaning against the car. “It’s my car.”

“You could get us killed!” Sam dislikes reckless drivers, ever since the car crash that totaled the impala and started it all. Even if the driver was a demon.

“I could get _you_ killed. Me, bulletproof. Luci, basically bulletproof. Face it, Sammy, _you_ , are just too weak to do anything.” Just like Gabriel was with stopping the war. It’s cruel, what he is saying, but this has been building for hours and watching Sam’s face twist in rage gave the Archangel a small twinge of vindictive satisfaction in his chest. Like lashing out at himself, but better. 

The rage Sam has bubbling up his gut all day bursts as he slams Gabriel against the side of the door, not caring about the fact that he can kill him with the snap of his fingers.

“Ooh, getting all dominant, aren’t we? Like to think that you’re in _control_ , or something. Face it, Sammy, you're not.”

“Shut up.” Sam picks Gabriel up by his collar, and slams him against the door again. “You _shut up_ -”

“What can you do if I don’t? Nothing- cause all you do is _nothing_ -” Just like how Gabriel can do nothing about the war, and he thinks that he should be more sympathetic, but the anger just reaches over and grabs at him, anger at himself and at Michael and at Lucifer and the rest of the world-

“Fuck you.” Sam snarls. “You don’t get to say that- what the hell did you do- what the hell _can_ you do about Lucifer? What about Michael? Or the Apocalypse? You are just some sick fuck who likes to play games with lives cause you _can’t control your own life_!”

They were both breathing hard and glaring at each other, with people beginning to point and stare. “Stop.” Gabriel glares up. “ _Shut up_.”

“You’re telling me to shut up now, huh? Cause I told the _truth_? You’re just a _coward_ who ran away-” Just like Sam did, but Sam is too busy being shocked by Gabriel grabbing his shirt almost violently and crushing their lips together. A desperate bid to get them to both stop talking before someone gets hurt. It was violent, unhappy, bitter and angry.

People are staring openly, gaping at the exchange. Sam pushes Gabriel off him, opting to storm speechless and red faced to the other side of the car, slamming the door and hoping silently that the milling crowd did not see Lucifer. He would rather not touch on what just happened between him and Gabriel, not with a ten foot pole.

They drive off in an uneasy silence. A storm brews at the edge of the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing has honestly improved so much since I began this fic. Thank you all so much for sticking with me :)
> 
> My Gabriel is pretty different from the trickstery ways most people tend to write him, but I'd like to think that we haven't seen enough of Gabe when he is not 'The Trickster' in the show. Besides, different interpretations and all that.


	25. Cutting ties and letting them bleed

“Michael!” The horseman remarks. Dean backs himself against the wall. “Really not expecting you, since Raphael raised me and all.” He gestured to the dead Angels on the ground, smoked out from their vessels like demons. Cas kneels on the ground, shuddering slightly and hands gripped tight on the counter. Blue eyes sending jolts of electricity down Dean’s spine. _Fuck_ , they are both hit by whatever mojo Famine cast.

“Famine.” Dean spits, forcing himself to not pull Cas away and jump him right in front of the horseman. He should have known it. Raphael raising the horsemen. It’s right in front of him, all the clues and he did not even know, dammit. It’s like he is too affected by being Dean, by Dean’s likes and Dean’s humanity that he forgot how to be an Angel, even with his grace and powers back.

“Heaven’s general running around with _lesser_ Angels? I expected better of you.” The horseman hacked and coughed at the effort it takes just to talk, and a silent kind of rage gripped Dean, but at that moment he is more Michael than Dean, all power and fury as he lashed out, intending to destroy Famine. Horsemen cannot be killed, he vaguely remembers. They are neutral creatures, only raised during times of Apocalypse, and it’s pretty damn obvious who raised them. Dean should have known. Heaven wants the Apocalypse just as much as hell but to raise a horseman, any of the horsemen takes blood and power and Raphael must have really lost it if he is willing to do that. And to think all this bullshit is at least partially Michael’s fault really does _not_ sit well with him.

Dean keeps his grip tight, on the wall and on Sam’s knife- Sammy is gone, and he doesn’t even have his damn knife- He keeps his head turned, straining his neck, so he can’t see Cas. The air is hot with the tension between them, trying their damn hardest to not latch onto the other’s body and fuck their brains out. Famine’s snarky comments actually helps in the sense that he is such an incredible turn off that both Castiel and Dean break into cold shivers as soon as they glance at him, and Dean tells Famine that.

“I see you still have too much Dean- cough- Winchester in you- cough- not good- cough- not good at all-”

“That’s cause I am Dean Winchester, you sonovabitch-” Dean yells, but a treacherous voice in his mind tells him that he would be better off being just Michael, without any of Dean's hang ups and _issues_ - 

“Now now-” Famine wags a finger, and Dean couldn’t take the smug asshole anymore, and Cas seems to be just as rightfully pissed off. They launch themselves at Famine, Angel blades in hand, and Famine flings them away.

 

“Now listen, you _imbeciles_ -” The horseman inspects his fingernails, having the gall to appear bored as Dean and Cas hung helplessly on the wall, choked under the horseman’s powers and Dean thinks that War must have held back, because back then it was only Sam and Dean and a knife, and now it’s Cas and himself, a freaking Archangel and they can’t even touch Famine.

“You don’t want the Apocalypse-” Castiel interrupts the horseman. Never in his life has he ever thought he would ever meet a horseman. Nor has he ever thought much at all- “None of you do- that’s why Dean has _War_ ’s ring-” His eyes are wide and glowing and even though Dean is struggling to get himself off the wall he couldn’t help but stare and want and it’s fucking embarrassing that he can’t throw off Famine’s mojo.

 

 

 

Dean picks himself off the floor after Famine whisks Cas off with a grin, dropping him back alone with a ring sitting on his hand, not looking at Cas. Sure, the horseman himself is gone and the strong desire to hump Cas like a freaking dog is gone, but he has to admit that he is just slightly pissed that Cas figured out whatever game Famine before he did. And yeah, he definitely should not be _jealous_ that Cas is smarter than he is, but he is. Cause everyone is smarter than Dean. He's the problem, every time. He fucks up every time, leaving Sam or Bobby or Cas to pick up the mess. And it looks like Cas is doing a good job of being better than him already. And he is proud but it hurts, hurts that even as an Archangel Dean still does a shitty job.

It seems like that Famine is right. There is still too much _Dean_ in him. Too much humanity and it’s _compromising_ their mission to stop the Apocalypse. If not for Cas then they might not even have gotten Famine’s ring. The mission cannot be compromised. To not be compromise the mission, he will need to stop being Dean. And, sure, something in him screams at that decision, that this is a huge mistake but he knows better. He always know better.

 _Michae_ l straightens his back. He should not refer to himself as Dean. It’s frighteningly _easy_ to cut away his humanity and shove it into a box. And his relationship with Castiel cannot continue if he wishes to stop the Apocalypse. It will distract him from the true mission. 

 

“I wish for you to refer to me Michael from now on.” Castiel freezes at Dean’s voice, suddenly cold and hard, grip tightening around Famine’s ring.

“If we are to put a stop to the Apocalypse-” Because _that_ is the mission now, Michael thinks, and when he has a mission in mind he works towards it. Find Sam. Find Lucifer. Stop the Apocalypse. And he will not give up now. And as much as he will deny his humanity now he still does not wish to see them destroyed. “Then our _relations_ must not continue.”

It hurts Dean- Michael to say that. Like ice lodged itself in his grace, where his heart should be and the pain spreads through him, cold and numbing. “From here on we are nothing more than brothers working towards a single goal.”

 

Castiel swallows, wishing that he could burn up at that moment, on the spot. It confuses him, why Dean would suddenly want to be referred as Michael, and not Dean. Why he would suddenly want to put an end to their companionship when it brings them nothing but joy. It had all seemed so natural then, loving Dean and now- he just _cannot_ understand- and so Castiel concludes that since the fault cannot lie with Dean it must lie with him.

“Dean- what did I do wrong- please, I can _change_ -” Castiel begs, eyes wide.

“It’s Michael!” He did not know why Cas- Castiel’s begging threw him off, but it should not make him feel such turmoil. He throws Castiel against the wall, snatching Famine’s ring off him and leaving. He needs to find Lucifer and Sam, and he does not need _Castiel’s_ help.

 

Castiel leans against the wall, the heat from Dean’s hand searing his throat as he sinks to the ground. The space before him remains empty. Dean is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated quickly.


	26. Ritualistic

“I got the colt.” Naomi reguards Zachariah cooly.

“Did you get the Angel who got the colt?” Zachariah asks. He has a feeling that she didn’t, not with the way the anger just seems to roll off his kid sister.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.” Naomi answers.

That’s a no, then. “How is our family reunion coming along there, sis?” Zachariah considers. “Raphy raisin’ the horsemen yet?”

“War, Famine and Pestilence.” Naomi answers dully. If this carries on the way it goes, then Death shall be raised soon. And still no sign of Michael, or _Lucifer_ , for that matter. Really, Heaven is a _mess_ , if the state of this plan acts as an indication. More reasons that she should be in charge, given that Naomi is probably the only Angel in this whole thing that knows how to run things. Zachariah fancies he can, that slimey bastard, but she knows better. And if there is one thing Naomi is good at that is winning.

“Well, that leaves Death, then.”

 

Death does not like to be disturbed. It seems that Archangels do like to wake him and attempt to bind him, even though they are quite insignificant compared to him. It would have been Lucifer who bound him, but it seems like his fickle old friend changed his mind. Death raises his glass to the air, a silent toast. The story is just getting started.

 

Raphael watches in disdain as the demons marched across, throwing him fearful glances. Lucifer is still gone, not what he would have expected knowing his brother, but the Apocalypse must continue. So he takes Lucifer’s place. Funny how it came to that. He reached for his arm and stroked the scars on there. One from Lucifer, another from Michael. It’s a little strange for Raphael. He was, as the humans would say, the epitome of the _middle child_. Michael was the eldest, Lucifer was the most talented, Gabriel was the youngest and a prankster. That left him with essentially nothing.

The younger Angels knew that, too. They flocked to Michael and practically worshiped the ground Lucifer walks on. They played with Gabriel until he was elevated to a messenger. They stayed away from Raphael, and the lightning storm that dances across his grace. Fearsome healer, they called him, for healers are meant to be gentle and yet he is not.

But that does not matter. Nothing matters, after all. Just like how Michael ran off the radar and left him to lead Heaven without even an instruction manual. Or how Gabriel ran off after almost being killed by Michael(can’t blame him on that). Or how Lucifer ran off after being let out of the Cage, leaving him to pick up the dirty work. It’s almost expected, really. Raising and binding Death is surprisingly easy. The old man snaps up a table and offers Raphael pizza and the Archangel knew he was being played. But the ritual is in place and so are the bindings, and most of the demons are dead, their meatsuits sprawled on the ground, eyes burnt out and smoking. The horsemen are raised.

The Apocalypse is a _delicate_ procedure, with years of preparation to set the plan into motion. The cherubs take the Archangel vessels and breed them so they do not run out. Raphael himself has many vessels across the world, all of them related in some ways or another. Heaven and Hell has been working towards the end game, hoping that their side would win. The Angels have power and the Demons have numbers.

But the tipping point, the signal to push the powers that be into motion, rests on the Angel’s side. One Archangel, to be specific. Gabriel was Raphael’s favorite brother. Perhaps it’s because he is the youngest. They got along, even when their personalities were like day and night. Gabriel escaped from Heaven that night, and Raphael did not alert anyone even when he saw his brother slip away.

Gabriel is the messenger, and it is _his_ duty to sound the horn and bring about the Apocalypse. Raphael did not wish to bring Gabriel into all this again, but if that is what has to be done, then he will do it. There is a good chance that at least they would survive this, even if Michael and Lucifer kill each other. Gabriel will need someone to help him, when it comes down to that.

He snaps his fingers, summoning the ingredients needed for the summoning. Gabriel, Archangel of Truth and Justice, the Heavenly messenger. Not that he has been that for a long time. It’s time to get to work.

 

 

Gabriel and Sam fumed at each other in the broken down old car while Lucifer slumps over the backseat, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air. Not that he is in much peace, judging by the occasional thrashing around, grabbing into the air like he is trying to hold on to something and the tight lines of his body. Gabriel tightens his hold on the steering wheel. It _hurts_ like hell to see his brother not get much peace even in sleep. They stop the car, and Sam slams the door, refusing to look at Gabriel, face still burning, the imprint of the Archangel’s lips on his on fire in the night. He lost the battle, and glances to the side.

Gabriel stood there, hair framed by the moon. And Sam is _lost_ , because the man is almost glowing under the silver light. He vaguely remembers reading somewhere that the Archangel Gabriel is tied to the moon. It fits. Something twists in his stomach and Sam’s heart jumps to his throat. He shakes his head, turning away. When he turns back, the moment is lost.

 

Gabriel touches his mouth. What the hell was _that_ about? One minute he was being shoved into a car by someone, who, logically, should be way less powerful than he is. Next minute he is pulling the larger man down and they were making out like teenagers in heat. Not good. Totally not good. Not good at all. Shit, shit, shit.

Okay, Gabriel reassures himself. Sam Winchester is one attractive cookie. It’s perfectly natural to be attracted to him. He never really got over Lucifer, but he did have human lovers before. It’s normal. Breath, Gabriel, breath, dammit.

They avoided each other awkwardly in the tiny room when Gabriel first felt the pull of the summon and panic wells up in his chest. Not just a summon for Loki, but a summon for Gabriel. Someone wants him, or knows who he is and this ancient spell to call for him. A ritual for the Archangel of Truth.

“Sam!” The air around him begins to spin, wanting to drag him away.

Sam turns to see Gabriel being pulled away by some invisible force, and he reaches up to grab the Archangel by his wrist. "What is-" 

 

"I'm being summoned- someone knows who I am-" Gabriel answers, words being cut off by a loud, invasive ringing noise. Sam hears enough to have his heart sink to his stomach.

"Gabriel- wait-" The sound grows louder and the room begins to shake, and it's like everything, including Sam is being pulled forward into the whirlwind. Sam holds on tighter, Gabriel's fingers pressing bruises on his arm.

"Look after Lucifer!" Gabriel shouts as a bright explosion of light fills the room. He musters up every bit of the magic he gained and learned to use as a Pagan God, throwing himself as far away from whatever that is summoning him. 

 

Sam falls to the ground, showers of glass and light and the loud ringing echoing in his skull. When he looks up, Gabriel is gone. His heart sinks further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write Raphael as a character who is relatively easy to sympathise with because I believe that every character should be given a chance to have their backstories shown.
> 
> The horn of Gabriel came from s6 where it is mentioned that Gabriel will start the apocalypse by sounding it so I went with it.


	27. You raise me up

Castiel pulls himself up from the grime covered diner floor, heart pounding in his chest and not quite believing that Dean just left. He breathes in, breathes out, letting the sour, rotten air fill his lungs. His heart beats, once, twice, and it keeps beating on, like Dean is not gone, but the pain _twists_ in his chest with each pound of this useless organ. He breathes in, and breathes _out_.

Castiel steps out of the doorway, letting the freezing air fill his lungs. And he is lost. He has been lost ever since he touched Dean’s soul in Hell. He fell further when Dean held him that night, kissing him hard as they leaned on his car. Castiel never regretted being lost. To Dean, to Michael, to _whoever_ he is.

Dean wanted to find his human mentor, Bobby Singer, for help. Then that is where Castiel is headed as well.

They were lost. And he is determined to help them find their way again.

 

 

Sam runs out of the room. He needs to get to Lucifer and get them as far away from Whatever that got to Gabriel. A demon? Another Angel? He has no idea but staying here is dangerous.

“Lucifer? Lucifer!” He shakes the unconscious Angel lying on the ground. The car is gone. So Gabriel did conjure it. Lucifer shifts, and remained completely out of it. “Wake up, dammit!” He shakes him, panic fading into instinct. He hauls Lucifer up. They need to get as far away as possible. He made a promise to Gabriel. To look after Lucifer. And with Michael after him and Cas unable to look for him with the marks on his ribs, Sam is on his own.

“You need anything?” A small, yellow car stopped by the side of the road. Sam looks up. A red haired woman steps out, waving the star trek Vulcan salute at him.

“Yes, please,” Sam answers immediately. He can get pretty good reads on people, and they tell him she is not dangerous.

“Kay.” She grins, moving to help him carry Lucifer into the backseat. “Who’s this, by the way? Cause I’m not helping you hide a body, _Fabio_.”

Sam has a feeling that they will give along. “He’s my, uh,” Sam considers. They don’t quite look like brothers. Cousins?

“Boyfriend?” Her eyes tinkled. “No need to be twitchy, Han, let’s get Luke in the car.” Sam turns red. “I heard you call the guy Lucifer out there- what was that?” The woman- Charlie, as she introduced herself. Sam remains uncomfortably silent. So she _did_ hear that. “Roleplay?”

“Nah.” Sam shrugs, feigning an air of lightness. “Just a nick name.”

“Seems pretty heavy for a nickname.” Sam shrugs again, and they drive off in amicable silence. She drops them off at some motel, and refused Sam’s offer of money, which is a huge relief, since Sam _has_ no money. Which is a problem. He crouches down, placing Lucifer on a bench on the side of the road.

 

“C’mon, Lucifer. Wake up.” He shakes the Archangel, feeling completely useless. And he is. He couldn’t stop Gabriel from getting dragged away. He couldn’t stop Dean from saying yes. He couldn’t stop himself from drinking Ruby’s blood. Sam’s life was a long list of failures that keeps growing, and why should this be any different?

 

 

Lucifer is _drowning_ in black. Falling hurts like hell. But he didn’t fall. Michael _pushed_ him. He pushed _himself_ , even. He falls through bright flashes of his memories, too broken up to recall-

“Michael- please-”

“Gabriel!”

“Don’t do this, Lucifer- Please _stop_ -”

“I am the _good son_!”

“Father! Can you not see? Are you _blind_?!”

“ _Stop-!_ ”

 

He can stay lost here forever. But there is a _spark_ , a voice in the dark that calls out for him, a voice that does not belong in this cache of memories. It resounds with something in him, and he hangs on to that voice like a lifeline, pulling himself away from the abyss and into the light.

 

 

So Lucifer lets the voice lead him away from the dark. And he opens his eyes. Lucifer wakes up. The pieces of memories that he clung onto stubbornly, like Gabriel tugging on his wings, too scared to fly or Michael catching him when he fell off a cliff fades away, but he refuses to let them leave. The voice calling his name remains an echo in his mind, not something he can pinpoint and he lets it stay, something comforting in the back of his head.

“Lucifer?” Sam shakes the Archangel again, not quite believing that he is awake. Lucifer blinks at him, eyes bright, blue chips of ice that seems to _glow_ under the moon-(now is not the time to wax poetic about Archangels-)

“Sam?” Lucifer pushes himself up, and the voice is lost, along with the other memories he stubbornly clang to. The wards and sigils glow in his grace as a mockery.

“You’re _awake_.” Sam says _again_ , and grabs Lucifer towards him in an embrace, pressing them close together because, dammit, he’s not _alone_ in this anymore. Thank God(maybe not) for small mercies.

“Was that you?” Lucifer asks, a sudden thought springing into his mind. He has always associated Sam with warmth, ever since they first met, with the sun shining out from behind his warm brown hair. And Sam’s body _burns_ like a furnace, not entirely unpleasant. And his voice is warm, like the one who pulled him out of the dreams.

“What?” Sam asks, burying his nose in the crook of Lucifer’s neck. The Angel’s body is slightly colder than the surrounding temperature, and Sam himself has always been a bit warmer than usual, and when they lean against each other like this, something like the perfect warmth spreads in the space where they touch. Sam smiles at that. Small mercies.

“I heard a voice.” Lucifer leans in towards Sam’s touch. “Was that you?”

“I-” Sam did shake and call Lucifer. Was it him that woke Lucifer from the days long sleep? It could be. He would like it to be. “I think so, yeah.” Somehow, the thought that they have a connection like that, makes his stomach twist up in ways that is not entirely unpleasant.

Lucifer wraps his arms around Sam’s chest. “Thank you.” He mumbles. “Thank you.”

“I did what I could.” Sam smiles a little at that. He did do something good, then. Behind them, the sun rises, red and gold spilling over the clouds. And it seems like everything will be just fine.

 

“Ahem-” A voice sounds up from behind their bench, and Sam jumps up, suddenly aware that they are in one of the more conservative states. A little girl in a white dress grins at them, a woman looking like her mother talks on her phone a small distance away. Sam blinks, unwilling to let go of Lucifer.

“I want to say-” She holds up a bunch of white flowers. “You’re really really brave.” Her smile lights up. “My mommy says so.”

 

“Oh.” Sam breathes. He takes the flowers, trying not to tear up. Sometimes he can forget how kind _people_ can be, when he deals with monsters on a daily basis.

 

“Thank you.” He tells her, and Lucifer echoes his thanks. The girl smiles, and runs off. The sun rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending this chapter on a high note :)


	28. Rain

Castiel stood outside the Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls. He flew endlessly, as fast as he could on his failing grace. And he knows that his grace is failing, _falling_. He has been falling ever since he met Dean. Falling from grace is like a dull, constant ache in his blood and bones, reminding him of it’s constant presence. He drags his feet, ever movement of his body and a small bit of grace tears itself away, lost to the wind. His wings bleeds blue light, fraying into pieces.

And when he thinks of Dean, his heart _breaks_. Castiel becomes delirious. The Apocalypse draws closer as spring breaks into summer, the heat hangs low in the atmosphere like rotten fruit, an ominous cloud brewing war and death. He hated the heat. It suffocates him, beats down on Castiel like it knows that he is a sinner, unlike how the heat of Michael’s grace, of Dean’s grace embraces and encompasses him as if it knows that he is broken and does not _care_.

He flew for what felt like hours, every beat of his wings weighing down on him, a small sliver of grace slipping away with each beat. Castiel is heartsick and _dying_ , he realized. His grace is in tatters, has been in tatters ever since it was ripped apart at the Prophet’s home. It was only a matter of time for it to fall apart again. Castiel does not wish to dwell on the topic of his failing grace.

Instead, he lets his mind wander, thinking about Dean and what he meant about being Michael. To say that Castiel did not understand this situation will be an understatement. Does it mean that Dean is Michael or that Michael is Dean? He has Dean’s soul and Michael’s grace. He seems like Dean, _enough_ so that Castiel can still recognize him, but then again Castiel did not know Michael at all.

Does his outburst mean that he would attempt to begin the Apocalypse again? He seemed keen on seeking Lucifer out, and Castiel did not ask why, only assumed that Michael- or Dean did so with the same reason for seeking Sam out. Looking for a lost younger brother.

Perhaps there is _another_ reason, one that Castiel did not consider because he was too _blind_ in love. The thought made him sick to his stomach, body breaking out in cold sweat. Perhaps Dean meant to finish this Apocalypse all along. Why else would he take all those detours, when he has to powers to stop at least some of the signs of the Apocalypse from coming into being?

At that time Castiel thought it was because Dean did not understand how much power he now possessed. Now, with cold nausea, Castiel thinks that there is something more. He flies faster, beating his wings against this inevitable storm.

 

Bobby Singer saw him, and that was fortunate. His sister was there also, as well as other hunters, so Castiel tells them what happened.

“Dean is _Michael_?”

“Yes.”

“But you think he wants to destroy the world? Still?”

“Yes.” Castiel explains his thoughts, his heart _sinking_ as he articulates his previous thoughts. It seemed absurd at that time, thinking that Dean wants to destroy the world. Now, he is not so sure. He could see his company’s faces cloud over. Dean has two rings of the horsemen.

Anna tells them that the horsemen’s rings can open the door to the cage once again.

“Where did you learn that?”

“I broke into Heaven’s battle plans.”

And a plan so _blasphemous_ begins to form in Castiel’s mind. He can see the thoughts crossing the other’s minds as well. It begins to rain.

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining. Not the good kind of rain, either. Heavy, _humid_ summer rain that soaks through every inch of their skin. Even Lucifer looks downright miserable in this rain. They were drowning rats, the two of them. Black rolling clouds seems to cover the entire world, dark and oppressive, an omen of what is to come.

“If there is a bar-” Sam swears. If there is a bar he could go in and scam someone out of their drink money. He usually did that with Dean, but it can’t be that hard to do it by himself. He regards Lucifer, still clutching the tiny white flowers, keeping them alive somehow. Can he teach an Archangel how to hustle pool? Probably not.

Lucifer decides that he did not like the rain, or the heat that accompany’s it. The humidity soaks into him, fat lukewarm raindrops sliding in crevices of his skin. It’s uncomfortable. He wishes that he could _fly_ , that he still has enough of his powers left to at least get him and Sam somewhere to sleep at night. Ever since the outburst at the cave the bindings on his grace grew tighter. What did he ever do to God? Lucifer wonders, but he knows that the answer is not one that he wants to learn. Or remember.

There is rainwater in Sam’s boots. The street is empty except for their footsteps, being a rather small and downright dreary town. His socks are soaked, cotton squelching with every small movement he makes. Lucifer follows Sam. It’s pretty funny how he has been following people ever since this started. First with the two Winchesters and Castiel. Then with Meg and Gabriel. And now with Sam. And whenever he tries to remember how to do anything, like flying, the pain is like a kick to the stomach. What the hell did he ever do? He wants to remember. He does not.

 

By the time Sam did find a seedy backstreet bar where he strides in, it was late at night, and only the dedicated drunks and gamblers are left, except for a young couple getting handsy by the counter. He takes in the calculated stares the large men surrounding the pool table. He can probably take a few of them, and there is no saying how many Lucifer can take on. In the end, there is no need. He wins a few hundred bucks, much more than he used to make.

Sam pushes down the little twinge of guilt. Better for him and Lucifer to use the money to buy a place to stay the night than for them to drink and gamble it away. They end up settling in some corner motel room, the clerk checking them in with bored, sleepy eyes, not even bothering to notice the case of cheap beer and cheaper wine brought from the gas station down the road. Sam figures that at least that would give them something to do. The silence between him and Lucifer is not exactly uncomfortable, but he can only take so much silence before needing to find someone to talk with.

 

Lucifer finds that the alcohol gives him a nice, warm buzz, burning his throat and tongue. He watches Sam setting the cases on the ground and sitting down, leaning against the wall, the water in his hair trailing down his cheekbones and neck. His face heats up a little, and he takes another drink, placing the flowers on the dresser by one of the beds.

Lucifer bends over, and Sam finds himself staring. Goddamn. This really is not the time. "What d' you think happened to Gabriel?" He slurs, trying to bring himself away from his current train of thought.

"I dunno." Lucifer tries to not think of what happened to Gabriel. Even if he didn't remember what happened, it was clear that Gabriel was _hurt_.  He must've been an ass of a brother for him to be like that. 

Sam nods, and proceeds to get drunker. Gabriel is pretty. But Lucifer is also pretty. They are both pretty guys, and Sam did experiment in College, and the experience is not entirely unpleasant. Lucifer's lips are stained red with wine, and the small streak of moonlight shining through the curtains lights up his eyes.

 

 

Getting from watching to doing takes another minute of drinking.

Lucifer is slightly drunk, and closer to Sam than he has ever dared to be, the heat from the other man's body reaching out. Something in him resonates. He touches Sam's shoulder.

Sam is warm and comfortably drunk, and Lucifer's fingers are cold against his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine.

Lucifer cannot recall the exact moment when they began to kiss, Sam reaching down, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. He breathes against Sam's lips, the rain becoming a storm, thunder and lightening crashing down.

Sam vaguely wonders if wanting to make love to an Archangel is considered blasphemy. Lucifer's mouth tastes like ice water and wine and sin, and something fresh and cleansing that he couldn't quite name. Sam runs a finger through his short blond hair as they fall together onto the ground, barely having any sense left. He arches up, jeans growing uncomfortably tight. The same warmth that was formed between them is back, a connection between their bodies, and something more.

Lucifer feels a soft pressure building up in his body. He rolls his hips, trying to get his body to fit with the man lying on top of him, a comfortable weight. He lets out a small, breathy moan when Sam's tongue breaches his lips, when Sam presses soft lips against his jawline, on his neck. Sam moves off him, and Lucifer attempts to protest.

"D' you want this?" Sam asks, and Lucifer nods.

"Do you-"

" _Yes_." Sam growls, attempting to remove his pants. 

They fall into a familiar and yet new rhythm after that, lust clouding over blue and hazel eyes as Sam pulls Lucifer's shirt off, throwing it across the room. They are both a little drunk, high on each other's presence and the warmth between them. 

Lucifer attempts to kiss Sam as much as possible, and even his mouth is cool against Sam's. They breath in the raging storm outside, Lucifer running cool fingers up Sam's chest, both of them completely naked against each other, hands exploring each other's naked form in erotic ecstasy.

Sam is _burning_ up, his hand gripping Lucifer's body, placing his fingers over Lucifer's chest. The Archangel's heart thumped against his hand in tune with the rain. Lucifer raises his hand, and Sam could see him mirroring Sam's action. His head is light and dizzy with overwhelming sensations, like his entire body is being lit up.

Lucifer explores as well, Sam grinds down on him, and his fingers reach out, one hand on Sam's chest, and another wrapped around his length.

They move together after that, letting the electricity course through their veins as Sam guides Lucifer's hand, letting their cocks slide together.

They were like that this night, the winds howling, a thunderstorm raging outside. And yet the only thing they can see is each other. Lucifer trailing his fingers up Sam's back as they fall into a comfortable rhythm, Sam with one hand underneath Lucifer, fingers gripping the hair on the back of his neck, another hand wrapped around heavy members as they fall closer to orgasm, thunder and lightening giving them a beat to dance to.

A night like this, where each touch lingers with reverence, where the body is a temple, to be worshiped by the other. A night like this, where even nature sings to their tune. A night like this, when skin on skin brings them closer, erasing everything else in their minds, until the only thing they know is each other.

They fall together on a night like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love <3
> 
>  
> 
> (my attempt at a sex scene.)


	29. Trickster's Treats

Dean follows the Trickster’s trail. If somebody knows where Sam, and most likely Lucifer is, it would be that bastard. Tracking magic is easy when you know how to do it. An explosion. He gets a hold on the magic. The trickster killed him over and over again, and has probably killed a lot of people before. As a Hunter, and as an Archangel, Dean should go on and hunt. He grins at that.

He didn’t want to think of Cas. _Castiel_. The _hurt_ in his eyes. Damn, did that hurt like a bitch. Like a cold knife to his grace. No use of thinking about Cas at all. He can go back and fix whatever is between them after he is done. Now there is only the mission.

The magic’s trail is small, jagged, disappearing at places only to appear again thousands of miles away. Until an explosion of magic draws Dean’s attention. He grins and flies in it’s direction. That was almost too easy. Almost. Gabriel can see Michael out of the corner of his eye, yet he cannot run.

This place anchors his magic, and if he leaves, then he will be summoned away. He is trapped, like an animal in a cage, desperately wanting to leave yet unable to. He can feel his grace tearing slightly, magic in one way, grace in the other way.

“Michael-” The Trickster whimpers in the corner and Dean snarls. Killing him for all those Tuesdays, making Sam watch him die all those Tuesdays-

“Where the hell are my brothers?” Dean shoves the Trickster up against a wall, sword against his throat.

Lucifer? Gabriel can’t tell Michael where Lucifer is. Michael tried to kill him once. Let’s see if he can get lucky the second time round.

“Not. Telling.” Michael’s grip is crushing against his throat. So he is really going to kill him this time. Somehow, Gabriel is not surprised. Not at all.

 

By the time Dean realizes just _who_ the hell the Trickster really is, it was too late. His sword sinks into the other man’s stomach, and the bright glow of grace that bursts out throws him off. It was so familiar, it could not be but it is and oh God what has he done-

Gabriel clutches at his wound, Michael’s face and the rest of the world becoming a blur. His hold on his grace and magic is loosening. Is this what dying is like? Angels were never meant to die. Archangels even more so. Gabriel is the first Archangel to die, then.

It’s Gabriel. His other little _brother_. Last time he saw Gabriel, Michael almost _killed_ him. Now it’s _done_. “No, no nonono-” Dean is frantic- yeah, Gabriel did kill him but Gabriel is dying and he _owes_ him so _so much_ \- He presses his hand against Gabriel- the Trickster is Gabriel, and Dean still _can’t_ wrap his head around that one, but he doesn’t care, not right now, when the little brother he has wronged so many times lay dying under his hand-

“I didn’t _mean_ to-” Gabriel’s grace spills over the ground, from the hilt of Dean’s sword.

“C’mon, little brother- talk to me-” Dean is going to lose another brother, he _never_ wanted that, he never wanted to drive his family away from him, he never _meant_ to do any of the. Is this what dying feels like? Everything, reality slipping away from him, his senses dulling. He can barely hear Michael talking to him, barely feel the eldest Archangel’s hands on him. Dean can see Gabriel’s eyes glaze over, losing their golden sheen-

“Father, please-” He prays to an absent father, “C’mon, save him, man, he’s _not_ part of this-” But there is no answer. There is never going to be an answer.

 

So this is dying, huh? Life flashing before his eyes? That would pretty much sum it up, Gabriel thinks. Dying is kinda like flying. Flying through the beginnings of stars and planets, a brother holding his hand so he doesn’t fall, another brother far ahead telling them to catch up and another brother behind them, so that they all fall in line.

Dying is kinda like falling, falling off a cliff on a distant planet with an injured wing, except there is no brother to catch him in the end, and no brother to patch him up when it’s all done. Dying is like falling through the dark, and not knowing what is waiting for him in the end. Perhaps emptiness, a promise of nothing. Dying, in his case, seems to be taking an _awful_ long time.

Dean can still feel a faint heart beat, a low thrum of grace and magic, and at least Gabriel is still alive. He practically raised him, “Come on!” Dean shakes Gabriel. “Wake up, dammit!” Gabriel’s eyes opens slightly. “Stick with me, Gabe, come on come on-”

Gabriel can feel the pull of the summoning again, and this time he has no energy to combat it. Maybe this is for the best, huh? Dying feels like running away again, and Gabriel can’t help but be bitter about this. He has to leave Lucifer again, with only Sam to look after him and as much as he is willing to trust him Gabriel just wants to say _goodbye_ for once- is that too much to ask for?

The room begins to shake. Dean can feel it, something pulling Gabriel away from him. “C’mon, Gabe, you got to wake up- can’t lose you again- can’t live with it again-” Can't live with killing a brother. "You gotta wake up!"

Gabriel can feel the summoning. This time he doesn’t resist it. This time he is barely coherent enough to resist it. Ah, whatever. The Archangel turned Trickster thought. He lets go.

Dean looks up at the light. His hands are empty. All that is left is this sick, twisting nausea. He _killed_ his little brother. He was supposed to protect his brothers, all of them. But he failed. He failed every time.

The light fades away, and only Dean is left. There is blood on his hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes writing is really hard, but here is a new chapter! I have the rest of this fic plotted out, and I am determined to finish!
> 
>  
> 
> Also I'll be taking a break from writing since I'm doing the art for a big bang and a mini bang and school is starting but this will be finished! :)


	30. These bright lights

Sam wakes up, limbs tangled with Lucifer’s, the Archangel still asleep. Last night was a comfortable haze in the back of his mind. The rain became a drizzle overnight, glittering under the golden sheen of sunlight. What they did last night- it’s something, that he is sure of. The sex was intense, like an art film sex scene. He ignores that thought, opting to drowsily trace his fingertips across Lucifer’s cheek.

Sam feels content, not this content for a long time, like he has finally gotten _something_ right. There is a small cut there. Sam frowns. Small, previously unseen cuts and bruises riddles Lucifer’s skin.

Lucifer wakes up with a slight headache, and pain from various parts of his body.But last night- last night with Sam was like being complete for the first time, like he was made of jagged edges and there is finally someone who can _fit_ with him. Being with Sam seemed so _right_.

They got dressed quietly, a comfortable sort of silence setting in between them. This kind of silence is graceful, fluid, the kind of silence between people who has known and loved each other for years. The world outside is light and fresh, spring tethering on the edges of summer. The rainstorm has faded, leaving only the scent of fresh grass and lingering lightning.

Sam knows that he needs to run. From Michael. From whatever that got to Gabriel. He hopes that the Archangel is somewhere safe.

Lucifer follows Sam, dipping the toes of his borrowed boots into deep puddles on the side of the street. He knows that he is not human, that he is something more, but this simple act, him imitating the children on the other side of the street, gave his heart a comfortable and not entirely unpleasant squeeze. The cool morning hair fills his lungs, and Lucifer likes to think that this is what happiness feels like. He is happy, in this instant.

 Even with the small cuts and bruises that litters his body. He has had them, coming up suddenly over the last few weeks, most of them appearing on his legs and abdomen, and yet it is not until lately that they’ve begun to spread to his arms and face. They itch and bleed and throb all over. Ugly scars that he could hide easily up until now.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asks Lucifer as he steps on the accelerator on a hot wired car. For an Angel, Lucifer is surprisingly fine with stealing cars and what not. Then again, he is Lucifer. Sam knows that he is Lucifer’s true vessel. That means the body Lucifer wears now is failing, as Gabriel has predicted. Sam grimaced as he remembers the other Archangel’s exact words.(“He would, like, explode. All over the place. Just the body, though.”). That does not mean Sam wants to offer himself up as a vessel. No sir. Not going there in a million years, no matter how nicely Lucifer asks. It doesn’t seem like Lucifer knows what exactly is going on.

“I am pretty sure.” Lucifer examines the sores on his arms. They seem to be growing larger, some of them glowing a faint, pale blue.

“Right.” Sam glances sideways at Lucifer’s arms again. His sleeves are rolled up and his skin is fraying, like his body is still alive and being occupied but slowly breaking down. He stops at a gas station, beckoning Lucifer to follow him. At this point, they have to stick together. Sam has an Angel banishing sigil painted with his blood on the inside of the impala. If they ever get Michael out of Dean Dean would kill him.

Lucifer moves away from Sam, examining the colorful packets of candy on the shelves.

 

“Hey, you okay?” The cashier asks, after Sam places another packet of something in his arms, walking off muttering about the lack of salad.

“Yes?” Lucifer frowns, tilting his head. Why would this human appear so concerned about him, a perfect stranger passing through this shop like so many others?

“Look, I can call the police.” The cashier glances around, checking that Sam is at the other side of the shop. She is young and at least a head shorter than him.

“Why?”

“Just because he’s beating you up doesn’t mean you have to stay with that guy!” She whispers, several other customers taking attention.

“Uh-” Lucifer really does not know how to explain this. Sam appears, pulling him away, salad in hand, to the nearly poisonous glare of the cashier and the scant few customers paying attention to their conversation.

“What was that all about?” Sam turns back to see the same few people glaring at him.

Lucifer shrugs. He can understand the differences between him and humans now, with the edges of his faded memories telling him that he is not one of them, that he will never be one of them. So what? He tells the voice. They seem to care enough about him. 

 

They stop at another motel room, and Sam cuts his hand and draws a symbol on the walls.

 

 

Dean gets up from the ground eventually, knuckles white and clutching at his Archangel blade, blood sliding from it’s tips onto his fist, tinged with the blue hue of Angel grace, thrumming weakly against his skin, lights dimming. The blood drips onto the ground, pooling at his feet.

His head is light, as he walks outside and the blood from the sword drops onto the highway, leaving an incriminating trail of red behind him. The hotel seems utterly destroyed, it’s roof ripped completely off, it’s walls crumbling lifelessly onto the ground.

He killed his brother, Dean thought, and that is failure of the highest kind. Ever since his father placed Lucifer in his care- ever since his father placed Sam in his arms and told him to _run_ Dean has been looking after them, like a big brother should. And even though his life has been a long string of failure since Lucifer’s fall and his own fall, Dean would like to think he managed to raise his other brothers all right. They turned out _fine_ , didn’t they? Even if Annael was a little off ever since the war and Raphael refused to talk to him.

The thing is, Dean killed his own brother. There is no other way to word it. He murdered his little brother in cold blood, and now Gabriel’s blood is on his hands, cold and sticky with fading grace, and Dean has _failed_ him. He should have checked before rushing in like that. He should have known that something like a Trickster should not be so powerful.

Yet he barged in blindly, mind clouded by the search, and the pain from him and Cas’s split. Dean could blame no one but himself on this. He has to find Lucifer and Sam, faster. Gabriel’s senseless death _has_ to mean something.

Dean knows what Lucifer’s grace feels like. He raised that kid, mostly by himself. Not like his father helped all that much. It was cold, colder than his and he can feel it, as well. Mostly off the cliff that night- Gabriel was there too, wasn’t he? All the signs were there and Dean ignored them, thinking that Gabriel was gone and now he is and it’s on him-

Dean catches onto Lucifer's grace, and begins the chase.

 

 

 

Lucifer is bleeding from his arm now, bleeding blue and the man in front of him tries to say something. He can tell that is not Dean, even if he looks like Dean.

"You're _Michael_." He says, and there is something like wonder in his voice.

"Yeah." Dean looks Lucifer up and down. Now he knows why he can track them so easily. There are sores all over his brother's body, bloodied with grace and blood. "It's been a long time, little brother." He hides the bloody sword behind his back, hoping that Lucifer wouldn't notice.

"I don't want the Apocalypse." Lucifer tells Michael. Sam told him, and Gabriel told him that if Michael finds him he would want to fight him. Fight him and destroy the world along with it, and now that Lucifer has seen the world he doesn't want it destroyed. Not that he wants to fight Michael in the first place.

"Yeah." Dean nods. He doesn't want the Apocalypse either. He never wanted it. 

"You did something to Gabriel- I can feel it-" Lucifer says- and he did feel it, a sick, unpleasant twisting in his stomach, the warm connection he had briefly with the other Archangel snapping out-

"I-" Dean's grip tightens on his sword.

 

 

The door is open, and Sam could see Dean- Michael and Lucifer, standing and looking at each other. "Shit." Sam presses his back against the wall, hoping that no one would walk by and give him away. He has a knife up his sleeve. He cuts his hand. Lucifer would probably be banished, too. But at least he'll get away from Michael. It'll buy Sam more time to find him.

Michael has a bloody sword behind his back, and Lucifer couldn't see but Sam can.

So Sam closes his eyes, mutters a silent apology and slams his hand down.

 

 

Dean's eyes widens when he feels the pull of the banishing. Damn- that must have been Sam- shit-  He is torn away from his brothers yet again.

 

Lucifer can feel the pull of _something_ against him, like an invisible hand grabbing _him_ , not just his body but his grace as well, and _yanking_ him away-

Something tears and he can see more blue, glowing light and it hurts like hell, like something is taking him and tearing him in half-

He blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop is constantly overheating and my knees look like bacon, but here is a new chapter!! <3
> 
> //dodges tomatoes//
> 
> //points to temporary character death tag//


	31. Death to all Disease

 

Castiel’s plan is madness. Pure madness, and the others do object. “We need to find the rings.” He declares. “I will talk to Dean. And trap him in the Cage.” He is not so sure on the details. Or if he is willing, when the moment comes, to let go of Dean.

“That’s a bit harsh.” Ellen declares and Bobby agrees. “We can try _talking_ to him.”

“Of course.” Castiel nods. “We will not use the rings unless as a last resort. I will attempt to talk with Dean.” He has to. If Castiel does not manage to save this world, then he will never forgive himself. He will die before he lets it be destroyed. He will die before he lets Dean _destroy_ himself. It would be the last thing he does. Even Anna knows that his grace is fading, shredding itself to pieces. His sister throws him concerned looks and Castiel turns away. It is not something that matters. Dean has war and Famine’s rings. That means their next step is to gain Pestilence and Death’s rings.

“The swine flu that is going around seems like a’ good start.” Bobby states, pointing to a news segment playing on a beat up television in the corner of the room.

“We _should_  check that out.” Ellen calls from the other side of the room, packing her guns full of rock salt. Pestilence, huh? A horseman of the Apocalypse. _Damn_ , if she survives this whole ordeal this would be one hell of a story to tell. This is the stuff that makes people into hunting _legends_. That is if they believe her. Hell, even she wouldn’t believe her if someone told her years ago that this lady will end up hunting demons with her daughter and an Angel.

 

"You're dying, Castiel." Anna is blunt when she catches her brother's arm. 

"I will hold." Castiel tells his sister. He will hold, hold until the inevitable moment when they confront Dean. Perhaps he will not make it out alive. He only prays that Dean still cares for his human companions enough to not kill them.

"You cannot." Anna shakes her head, patting Castiel's arm and turning away.

"I will." 

 

Pestilence’s residence smelt of death and sickness, an invisible, putrid green hand wrapped around the entire building, squeezing and suffocating, invisible to human eyes. The air in here is harder to breath than the air outside, permeated by the stench of disease. The surrounding land is sick, the air is sick, and when they stepped it was like they were _sick_ to their bones as well. They charged on.

Pestilence himself spits disease, with a stormcloud of flies and pests at his heels as he preyed on the weak and dying. Soon, that would be everyone. Anna and Castiel charges in, battling the horsemen’s Angelic guards. Invisible weights tie themselves around their lungs, and even with their masks Pestilence manages to get to them.

Castiel is dizzy on his feet, head spinning- he cannot focus- he steels himself, driving his sword into an unnamed brother. He is doing this for Dean, he has to do this for Dean- he just hopes that there is still time, time to talk Michael- to talk Dean out of whatever he is doing, whatever he plans to do-

Something in the air changes, and even the horseman himself paused. An explosion of Grace, somewhere near them- not just any-

Castiel can feel it to. He exchanged a glance with Annael. Every Angel in the room could, no matter which side they were on. The Death of an Archangel is felt by all, mourned by all, like a blow to their chests. Archangel's are supposed to be golden, eternal and yet one is _dead_ \- it should not be-

They all know who. Gabriel, their golden messenger, even when he was gone, many Angels still held out to the fact that he could be out there _somewhere_ \-  

And Castiel. Castiel knew who did it. And he knows that no matter what, he has to stop Dean from doing it again. Castiel was not fast enough to save Gabriel. But he will save this world.

With a yell, he lunged towards the horseman, the others in the room too stunned to act. Gunfire and bullets hails like rain outside, where the humans battles the demons- Castiel is wild, then, throwing himself at the horseman with everything he has.

The sword slices of the ring with one swift movement. Pestilence winks at him, disappearing, and Castiel is left heaving on the ground, the bloodied finger clutched tightly in his hand. The other Angels retreated quickly.

Even when the humans celebrated their victory, Castiel and Anna remained silent. 

 

 

Gabriel opens his eyes, and he knows who called him.

“Raphael.” He says, to the figure with his back turned. He leans against the wall of the apartment, breathing harshly. He doesn’t have much longer, Gabriel thinks, regarding the injuries Michael left on him.

“Gabriel.” Raphael frowns at the state of Gabriel. The summoning ritual should not have harmed him, and yet here he is, bleeding out on his apartment floor. He heals as much of the wounds as he could. “If you did not resist the summoning-”

“Michael-” Gabriel groans, leaning against the wall, the throbbing pain from the Archangel sword making his entire body feel like one giant bruise. Raphael has already healed most of the wounds, and the rest are flesh wounds, nothing fatal. Looks like Gabriel _lucked out_.

“Michael? He-” Raphael shook his head. Michael is alive, then. Alive and here and yet he still did not take over his duties.  _Typical_ , then. Also typical of him to try and kill Gabriel like that. “If the summoning spell did not bring you to me, you would have been  _dead_.”

Gabriel laughs weakly at that. Him and Raphael may be the only normal pair of brothers among the Archangel. Michael and Lucifer’s relationship is complicated at best, and there is no need to mention him and Lucifer’s relations.

“If you didn’t summon me, then Michael would not have gotten to me.” Raphael is silent after that, even just for a little while.

“You know why I summoned you.” His voice remains cool and even, and Gabriel shivers a little at that. It is frightening, how calm and collected Raphael can be, with powers like his.

“To blow-” Gabriel makes an obscene gesture. “My horn.” He waggles is eyebrows as an added effect.

“Yes.” Raphael ignores Gabriel’s crude jokes. “The Apocalypse is  _meant_  to be Gabriel- it  _has_  to be this way.”

“Nah.” Gabriel says after a while.

“Your answer is no?”

“The Apocalypse is not inevitable, Raphael. You only want it cause you don’t wanna be in charge anymore.”

Raphael remains silent at that. Gabriel is telling the truth, after all. He never wanted to lead Heaven. After the Apocalypse, there will be paradise, and he will no longer need to govern the Angels. They can govern themselves. “You  _have_  to do this, Gabriel.”

“ _No one_  says I have to.” Gabriel shakes his head, stifling a cough.

“ _I_  am saying that you have to.” Raphael throws an object down in front of Gabriel, letting it fall to the ground with a metallic clang. If Gabriel sounds the horn, then the Apocalypse is truly inevitable. So he shakes his head, letting hair fall into his hair. “I will not force you’re hand, Gabriel.” Raphael adds to the silence. “You _will_  see my ways, eventually.”

He turns on his heels, striding out of the room, coat snapping behind him.

“As if I  _can_  leave!” Gabriel calls after Raphael’s retreating figure. The room is covered with sigils and symbols, tailored specifically to hold him. His brother knows that Gabriel will grow reckless and  _restless_  like this, being  _confined_  in a small space for an indefinite amount of time. He leans against the wall, kicking the horn to the other side of the room.

 Gabriel taps his fingers against the floor. He will not have the Apocalypse, and no one can force him. If Gabriel is anything, then he is stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that it's Raphael and not Lucifer raising the horsemen they have Angel bodyguards instead of Demon ones:)
> 
>  
> 
> //this has been a plot chapter//
> 
> //Castiel's exchange with Pestilence happened at the same time as Dean's exchange with Gabriel//
> 
> //when an Archangel dies pretty much most Angels can feel it.//
> 
> //Gabriel did die temporarily, but it's soon enough that Raphael brought him back//


	32. A real Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, my friends, the chapter we've all been waiting for.

Sam blinks away the stars in his eyes as his vision sets back in, no longer blinded by the flashing white light that sent the Angels away.

“Ah, _shit_.” He mutters, wiping the blood away from the walls, hoping that no one sees. Luck is on his side for once. He leans against the wall, peering into the motel room. Empty, and devoid of any blood, or anything that makes it seem like there has been a battle here. It was a close call. A damn close call. And now he has to race against time to find Lucifer again, before Michael does.

“Right, Sam.” He tells himself, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “Think. Think. Think-” He checks out, throwing the scattered clothing on the floor into their packs. Nothing much in there.

He checks out, ignoring the clerk’s concerned expression. He sits in the car, throwing together ingredients of a hex bag. And then Sam realizes that he has no clue on how to find Lucifer, and Lucifer has no way to contact him. Shit, he should’ve gotten him a phone, or something. Sam drives as far as he could, until sleep begins tearing it’s claws into him, unwanted and inconvenient. His eyelids fight to close and he has to force them to stay open. Sam pulls the car onto the side of the road. No use getting himself into a car crash before he manages to find the Angels.

“C’mon, Sam, you _can_ do it.” He mutters. “Lucifer, if you can hear me, Luce, a place name will be good, man.” Sam takes a deep breath, and he begins to pray. “Anywhere. A description. C’mon, talk to me. I know you can.” No reply. Time for something different.

“Right,” Sam takes a deep breath. “Gabriel, it’s, uh, Sam. Can you hear me? Are you still alive?”

Gabriel is going out of his mind in boredom. Completely out of his mind. He paced the room over and over again, examining all the crooks and crevices of the four corners. Tapped his fingers on the floor and doodled on the wall with a conjured pen. Too bad he can’t even leave the room. The horn lies on the ground, reminding him constantly out of his ticket out. No way. _Hell to the no_.

Which is why he jumped and hit the ceiling with his head out of surprise when he heard Sam’s voice reverberating in his skull, the first prayer he has properly heard in thousands of years. He is sure that other humans has prayed to him before. It’s just that Gabriel was not really listening.

“Sam?” Gabriel answers.

Sam lets out a deep breath of relief. The Archangel is still alive.

“Are you okay? I mean, we haven’t heard from you and Michael found Lucifer-” Gabriel tenses.

“What do you mean Michael found Lucifer? I’m fine- is he-”

“I banished them both.” Sam shakes his head. “I had to.”

“Right- right- do you know where Lucifer is?” Gabriel chases, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I was hoping that _you_ knew!” Sam is simultaneously relieved and distressed. Relieved that Gabriel is alive and okay but distressed that Lucifer still cannot be found.

 

 

Lucifer wakes up in a field, with men and women dressed in neat suits staring down at him. He blinks the sunlight out of his eyes. His world is delirious, and his entire body _hurts_ like it has been pulled in one million directions at the same time. He closes his eyes, attempting to chase away the pain. It was no use. Something cold and hard presses up against Lucifer’s forehead, and he lets his eyes fall open.

“Hello, Lucifer.” A bald, middle aged business man grins at him, and Lucifer could tell that he is another Angel. The woman next to him taps her feet, face set into a stern, pinched, frown. Lucifer finds himself to be surprisingly calm with a gun pointed at him.

He _should_ panic, but he couldn’t find it in him to panic. There is a flower by his head, and he turns to look. It’s the same kind of flower, like the ones from the bunch the girl gave him two days ago. It glows under the warm, golden sun, reminding him of the first day he met the Winchesters, when he woke up in another field a thousand miles away. He spilled wine on the flowers on the table, painting the petals _red_.

“Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.” The Angel’s grin grew larger. “Looks like we got you. Unfortunate, really.” Zachariah- his name is Zachariah, something in Lucifer’s mind supplies. “It’s not that we want to kill you, it’s that we _have_ to.” He sounded like he believed it, and Lucifer is still reeling from being ripped away like that.

“Stop gloating, Zachariah, and shoot him.” The woman commands. The other suited figures are like stone statues, standing in the sun. Unblinking. Inhuman. Cold.

The shot pierces through Lucifer’s forehead, the recoil of the gun silenced in Zachariah’s hand. Lucifer’s blood splatters across the fields, staining the white petals with a bright, shocking red. The same red as the burns that riddles his body. His eyes are open, a bland, opaque blue with the life in it completely gone.

Funny thing is, if Lucifer was at full power then, the gunshot would not have hurt him all that much, even if it is from the colt. But he was not at full power then, with his vessel failing and most of his powers blocked, and, as a result, the ground beneath him is painted in red, his weakening grace torn into fragments of star dust, scattering in the winds of the universe until only a shell of a body is left.

No one knew what the devil thought in his last moments but himself. They can all feel it. Zachariah, Naomi, all the other Angels and it’s like an ice cold sword to the chest, blinding and piercing. An Archangel’s death. They still reel from it even if it were them who killed him. They killed an Archangel.

Raphael leans against the wall, sweating and swearing- Lucifer is dead, Lucifer is dead and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. His brother is dead- his brother has left him _again_ \- this Apocalypse is meaningless now, and it always has been and now it’s up to him again to clean up after them- oh father- who killed his brother- he was going to kill _them_ \- he disappears in a flash of lightening.

 

Gabriel screamed then, sick to his stomach, and Sam felt it too- “ _Gabriel! Dammit! What happened? Are you there_?!” And the messenger could not answer.

Gabriel curls up on himself, forehead pressed against the cold concrete floor. It’s always cold in here. And Lucifer is gone. His body convulses, shaking at the empty hole in his heart, ripped open without warning. Gone gone gone. It's always _cold_ in here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3207983/chapters/6977411
> 
> (shameless self promotion below the cut!)
> 
> Please go read my new fic! :D  
> I swear it'll be worth it, even if it's gonna be sad.


	33. Born to Die

(This occurs right before Lucifer’s death)

“Ow, shit!” Dean curses, picking himself up from the rubble. Seems like he got slammed right into a building. He looks around. The place appears to be deserted. Dean pushes himself up, legs still unsteady. He got banished by Sam, _again_. He should try and stop his little brother next time- but that would mean Sam getting hurt- and Dean will rather tear out his grace and jump into hell than hurt Sam.

 

Castiel and Anna focuses their grace to track Dean. Most Angels can shield their grace from one another, folding themselves into the fabric of space so that they can hide. Archangels are too _large_ , too _bright_ to hide themselves without their spells and sigils, and even then, they can still be found with some effort. Before finding him, they have to track Death down.

The old man was clad in a suit that showed off his wiry frame, but he exudes a quiet sort of power that cannot be mimicked. Power that compels Castiel to sit down quietly, nervous and _sick_ to his stomach. Castiel wants to shake Death, ask him why he does not _care,_ wants to snatch at Death’s scythe and hack away at the ring. He needs it, needs it to save this planet. He needs it to save Dean. A plan forms in Castiel’s mind, one that he has not told the others about. It is his plan, and he intends to go through with it.

“That is a foolish plan, Castiel.” Death’s gaze is ancient and endless, and any creature, for they are all creatures under Death, will surly go mad if they look into the endlessly black eyes for too long.

“It is _my_ plan.” Castiel holds his chin up high, a defiant glint in his eyes. Castiel the soldier, Castiel the rebel, Castiel the _lover_. He will die a thousand times over for the man he loves.

“Then you will need this.” Death’s ring is the largest, slick black obsidian with a dull shine to it, encrusted in heavy silver. Pestilence’s ring sits besides it, a sickly green. “I will.” Castiel takes the ring, turns, and leaves.

“What an arrogant little creature.” Death murmurs to himself as Castiel steps out of the diner. “How interesting.”

 

 

 “Dean.” Dean looks up in a flash, and Castiel was upon him. The rings flies away from his pocket into Cas’s hands, attracted by the most powerful one. There were others, too. Bobby and Ellen and Jo and even Anna, head held high with her sword in front of her, even if it is completely useless against the powers of an Archangel.

“Cas, man, _don’t_ do this.”

“You killed Gabriel.” Behind him, the four rings come together in a circular formation, and power, too much power for a mere soldier like him to wield thrums under Castiel’s finger tips.

“I cannot let you destroy yourself- destroy this world like this.” Dean looks down, hurt, regret, and pain twisting his expressions.

“Cas, look-” He speaks, moving forwards slowly. Cas lets him place a hand on his shoulder. The ground opens up beneath them, and Castiel lunges, pushing Dean down with him, the rush of the wind bringing the shouts of Castiel’s companions to them. Dean could have avoided this. He is Michael, the eldest and strongest Archangel after all. The one thing he did not count on was betrayal from Cas, and that is exactly what happened.

Before he could propel them both up again, the Cage doors _slams_ shut and they were engulfed by the blackness. Quiet was the first thing Castiel thought about the Cage. Black and quiet, like an _universe_ turned inside out, starless and cold and wrong. Castiel looks around. His grip on Dean’s arm is gone. His hands are empty when the sharp pain of an Archangel’s Death hits him.

It burns _cold,_ and Castiel is overcome with nausea, twisting deep and _sick_. His knees hit the ground- Lucifer- Lucifer is dead. Castiel did not know much about the second eldest Angel, but he feels the impact even so.

Dean- Michael- did not react when it first hit him, for he did not believe it to be true at first. The impossibility that he has failed twice with saving his brother was too much to bear. But the cold did not leave. It sinks to the bottom of his heart and buries itself deep, sinking it’s claws into him until he is made to finally believe. Lucifer is _gone_ \- Dean _refused_ to say dead- And it is in part _his_ fault- if he has managed to hold on to his brother a little tighter when Sam banished them he could have dragged him with him. It is too late for could haves and should haves and would haves. It’s _always_ too late. _Dean_ is always too late. Even with his powers he is unable to save his _family_.

His little brother. His first little brother. The one his father entrusted to him when he himself was a mere fledgling. He took Lucifer flying off the cliffs of far away planets, they soared through the galaxies together. He watched as Lucifer aged and his relationship with Gabriel grew. His heart ached when he thought of Gabriel. Where ever he is, Dean hopes that he is with Lucifer. He killed a brother and failed to save another brother. It was only then that he realized that Cas is gone.

Not that Dean can blame him. Cas wants to _save_ to world. That alone makes him more of a hero than Dean. This Cage is dangerous. He should know. He helped build it. If Cas is taken by Hell and Dean is trapped here then he is truly alone.

 

“Lucifer is- gone.” Raphael’s face is grim when he looks at Gabriel, eyes hard, mouth set into a strict, straight line.

Gabriel picks himself up from the ground, no longer shaking after what felt like hours. He threw up, snapped it away, and threw up some more, until there is nothing left in his stomach and all he could to was dry retch.

“I know.” His voice came out hoarse and croaked, and his eyes are rimmed with red, but Gabriel refused to cry.

“Who?” Raphael asked, and it dawned to them both that they had no idea who killed Lucifer.

“Either Michael- or-”

Raphael’s face darkens. “I think I know.” He disappears with a crack of lightening.

“Hey, lemme out!” Gabriel beats against the door, all the energy seeping out of him. He is exhausted, and yet he cannot sleep. He wants to pace and move, and instead he slumps to the floor.

“Sammy? You there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally here!  
> My house is being renovated so it's taking longer for me to write, plus school has started, so my free time is basically zero. I always always finish my fics!  
> Love you all! :D


	34. Back against the wall

Sam sits white faced in Bobby’s room as Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Anna, the Angel they saved, told him exactly what happened.

“But- Gabriel is not dead-” He injected.

“I felt it. Castiel felt it. Our grace _cannot_ lie.” Anna looks oddly sympathetic, like she knows what Sam is thinking, or that she thinks he is delusional.

“I talked to him. Just a few hours ago.” Sam holds up his hands. “I swear.”

“Whatever you say, kid.” Ellen pats the back of a puffy-eyed Jo. “Whatever you say.”

“Why did Cas do that?” Sam changes the topic. “Jump Dean and get them _both_ into the Cage?”

“Like I know what the Angel thought.” Bobby passes Sam a beer. “Here, sonny. You might need this.” It was dusk when Anna approached him, Bobby off manning the phones and Ellen and Jo cleaning their weapons.

Sam sat on the front porch. He did talk to Gabriel. But now, with the Angel wards drawn all over this place he could barely hear him anymore. There is only static.

“Lucifer.” Anna asks quietly, and Sam startles from his spot, turning to face the Angel. Her face is tranquil, hair glowing slightly in the setting sun. He wonders if all Angels looked like that. Human, but so Angelic at the same time.

“What about Lucifer?”

“Your...relations with him. And Gabriel,” Anna carries on, and Sam finds his heart sinking into his stomach.

“My apologies. I do not know how you feel about them, but I was _human_ once.” Anna looks slightly sad, apologetic, and Sam stands.

“Did something happen? To Lucifer?” Sam asks, because he already knows. It could be a false alarm, like with Gabriel(even if Anna believes Gabriel to be dead). Something tells him that this is not the case. There is an eerie coldness at the bottom of his heart, like something has shattered but Sam does not know what.

“When,” Anna takes a deep breath. Sam looks so lost. Humans love so fiercely, she thought. And there is no doubt that Sam is at least a little in love with Lucifer and Gabriel. “When an Archangel dies all of Heaven can feel it.”

Sam feel his breathe escape his chest, eyes wide and unable to breath. His first reaction is to deny it. It is not true. There is no way that Lucifer could have died. He is- was an Archangel, for God’s sake! Something tells him that it’s true.

“My apologies.”

“Did Dean do it?” Sam asks. But even if his brother- Bobby explained to him about Dean being Michael, something he can barely wrap his mind around- But even if he did it was still Sam’s fault, Sam should not have banished them when Lucifer can barely defend himself-

Anna shakes her head. “Michael was already in the Cage with Castiel when I felt it. It could not have been him.” Oh, she did know who it could be. She doubled over in pain then, when Lucifer’s shattered grace called to all Angels. When she woke up they were already halfway back in the cars. Bobby’s legs are almost healed, with Anna and Castiel’s help. Castiel’s grace may be fading but Anna still has hers, and she will help her friends as much as she can.

“Oh.” Sam swallows, his voice suddenly thick. “Oh.” He sits down slowly, the Angel turning on her heels and walking back. He steadies himself a little. Sam is light headed when he walks out of the yard, into the bushes behind the house.

There are no wards there, and Gabriel’s voice comes back into focus in his mind. Gabriel felt Lucifer _die_ \- Sam thought suddenly, and stops in his tracks. It must have broke him. Sam _saw_ how strong their bond was. Sam failed them both. He promised Gabriel that he will take care of Lucifer. Sam promised himself that Lucifer will be safe with him.

Gabriel contacts Sam. No answer, so he does it again. Still no answer. Anxiety begins to claw at him. He paces around the small room, the injury in his stomach still throbbing. No matter how good a healer Raphael is he still cannot fully heal a wound made by an Archangel sword.

Gabriel lost a lot of grace in this. He probably isn’t going to get much better. And Lucifer is gone. Father, Gabriel tries _not_ to think of Lucifer. He cannot.

“Where the hell are you?” Gabriel hisses when he hears Sam’s again. “I _told you_ to look after him!” They both knew what Gabriel was talking about.

“Michael found him-” Sam hisses. “I mean, Dean- I had to banish them-”

“Wait- _what_ -”

“Dean is Michael- Not being possessed, he _is_ Michael.” Sam explains to the Archangel. “And, uh, Cas jumped him into the Cage before Lucifer-” He did not finish the sentence. They both knew what Sam meant.

“Castiel pushed Michael into the Cage?”

“Yeah. And Cas is stuck with him, too.” Sam runs a hand through his hair. His day is becoming progressively worse, his mind a mess of shock and denial. He waved Gabriel off, stepping back into Bobby’s house, swiping a bottle of Whiskey, the _good_ stuff.

God, he needs it now. Not that God is listening, Sam thought bitterly.

 

Castiel is lost and blind in the cage. He spins around on his feet, looking from side to side, unable to see anything, not even himself. It is like he no longer has a form, but even worse. Castiel can barely feel his grace anymore, the cutting, throbbing pain of it falling apart turns into a dull ache in the back of his mind.

Castiel is very nearly human, now. Or perhaps he would die when all of his grace fades? No matter. Castiel has already accepted death as his fate. He only wishes that Dean could be here with him when he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack!


	35. Lost

Dean attempts to light a fire, or something, with his grace, to no avail. His grace is dulled here, unable to reach, and Dean’s thoughts wander back to Lucifer again. Lucifer in the Cage, barely able to feel his grace in the darkness, the Angel of light trapped in a place with no light. He would have _hated_ it here, the Morning Star, Dean thought with an ache in his heart.

Lucifer made mistakes- did a _lot_ of wrong things- but he spent millions of years in the Cage, and Dean was the one who put him here.

Castiel walks on for Father knows how long, leaden legs dragging on wearily. This Cage seems infinite, too infinite, and Castiel is burning out in the darkness even faster than before. He sits, attempting to conserve energy, and falls. No where to sit where there is _nothing_.

Castiel stands at that thought, and looks down. Beneath his feet there is also black nothingness, and he falls down again. Castiel did not look down again. This Cage is literal nothingness, empty space, but if he could convince himself that there is a plane of existence here for him then he can at least stand.

Dean jumps when he hears Cas’s voice. “Cas?” He answers back, only to get a distant, muffled reply. His heart almost jumps out of his throat when he realized that Cas is _praying_ to him.

“Dean, Dean-” Cas says his name like a desperate prayer on a dying man’s lips. “My grace won’t last much longer- I’m so sorry Dean, _I love you_ -”

“Cas?” Dean calls back, his voice becoming a shout as Cas’s voice remain silent. “ _Cas!_ ” No answer. “ _ **Cas!!**_ ” No answer. His voice grows hoarse as Dean’s continues to yell. He begins to run. He begins to fly. The Cage acts against him, black space holding back his wings as he headed for any trace of Castiel’s grace. Something in his wing tears and Dean falls back, howling in pain. White hot pain _sears_ through his left wing, the grace desperately knitting itself together, throbbing painfully and leaving an ugly scar.

It strikes Dean that this is what Lucifer felt when Michael- when he first cast him down. Endless days of attempting to escape the Cage, of tears and scars criss-crossing his wings and his body, being torn apart slowly with this slow torture. And he was the one who subjected Lucifer- his little _brother_ to that. All because of an order. All because he wanted to be a _good son_. If he talked to Lucifer- tried to at least talk to him, attempt to lessen his hatred for the humans- not that Michael liked humans all that much back then.

Not like anything could be done right now. Not when Lucifer is already gone.

Castiel can no longer hear Dean. He did pray, and Dean did reply- funny how he is the one praying to him now, but father, no matter how much he talks to Dean, longs for him, he still cannot hear him. The Cage works that way.

 

 

Raphael burns them all, Zachariah, Naomi, the others that went against him with lightening. “You kill my _brother_.” His voice is impassive and cold. “You _ruin_ my plan.” The lightening strikes again, as the other Angels are caught up in the eye of the storm. “You _conspire_ against me.” The wind howls.

“Do you think I am an _idiot_?” Raphael snaps his fingers one final time. Raphael lets Gabriel out eventually.

“I’ve dealt with them.” He throws the gun- the Colt on the ground. It falls with a clang. Loud. Final.

“Wha-?”

“They killed Lucifer. With this gun.” Raphael’s voice did not betray any emotion. Neither does his eyes. Gabriel suspects that Raphael himself did not even believe he has emotions anymore.

“Oh.” There is so much that Gabriel wants to say, but only a small, strangled noise comes out of his throat. He could throw it off and make a joke. He can curl up in a corner and cry for the rest of his life.

“The Apocalypse is over.” Raphael takes the horn, turning to Gabriel. “Take care.”

“Yeah, you too.” Gabriel forces the words out of his mouth. Raphael is already gone.

 

Sam was sitting on the porch after they let Gabriel in, Anna staring at him in shock. She did not say anything, only nodding at him once, tersely, before declaring that she would return to Heaven and see what Raphael is doing. Gabriel moves next to Sam, slinging an arm around him.

“Hiya Sammy.” He says in a tone that is too light to be right. “Looks like another one bites the dust, huh?”

“Don’t say that. I know you don’t mean it.” Sam grits out. This is probably how Gabriel copes, he thinks. He can’t judge. They all have their coping mechanisms.

“Course I don’t. What else can I say?” Gabriel stops. This is frustrating. Being around Sam Winchester is frustrating. There is just something about that man that makes Gabriel want to let his guard down and tell him everything. Sam shrugs, not noticing Gabriel’s internal conflict.

“Oh God-” Gabriel jumps a little, not caring about the blaspheme. “He’s _gone_.” He whispers, like the full proportion of Lucifer’s death just hit him then. “He’s gone.”

“Yeah.” Sam answers, his eyes stinging and his voice dry and cracked. “Yeah.”

“You don’t understand.” Gabriel turns to Sam.

“He means a lot to me, too.” Sam answers.

“You’re his vessel.” Gabriel sighs. “Course you mean a lot to him.”

They stare off into the air in silence after that, well into the night. Gabriel snakes his arm down around Sam’s waist. It’s the contact, he thinks. Mutual loss. Sam lets him.

 

Lucifer wakes up on a couch surrounded by pieces of crumpled paper, empty take out boxes and beer bottles. He remembers _everything_.


	36. Don't let me go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the ending!

“Drink?”

The man passes Lucifer a bottle. He looks up and sees his father. There is so much to say. Too much. Why did he apologize in that dream? Where the _Hell_ has he been? Yet the first thing that came out of his mouth was-

“This early in the morning?”

“It’s actually the afternoon, but-” Lucifer takes the drink from his father. He hated him- this all powerful God back in the Cage- the Cage- the searing pain in his wings, in his back- everywhere- Lucifer shakes his head and takes a swig. He still _loves_ his father. That is one of his greatest faults. He will _never_ not love his father.

“Do you still want the Apocalypse?” The man- his father raises an eyebrow, taking a drink, plopping down next to Lucifer. Lucifer wants to hug him and scratch his eyes out. He can tell his father heard him thinking that, judging by him slowly leaning away. Lucifer scoffs.

“I never wanted the Apocalypse.”

His father smiles sadly at that. “Do you still hate the humans, then?”

Lucifer shrugs at that. His remembers his past. He also remembers his period of time without his memories. What a pathetic _mess_ he was. He looks down on his arms. All the burns are gone. “You fixed me?” No answer at that. “Why would you plan an Apocalypse just to call it off last minuet?”

“Plans change, Lucifer. I am sorry, I did not lie about that.”

“What caused the sudden change?” Lucifer can feel cold anger bubbling up suddenly. “You can’t just expect me to accept-” He gestured to himself- “ _This_ all of a sudden.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You never expected anything of us.” Lucifer stands. “It’s all about those _humans_ \- why-”

His father sighs at that. “Just because I love the humans does not mean I do not love you, or your brothers. I just...expected you all to handle the situations more maturely.”

“You create us to _praise_ you, father! And then you _leave_! How could you have expected it to turn out any other way!” Lucifer is shouting now, his eyes shining with grace. His grace- his grace is back- fixed-

“I did not mean to do that.” His father sounds tired and weary, and Lucifer deflates at the defeated tone in his voice.

Even God can be like this. “I thought you would be-”

“Like those human’s machines, father? _Unfeeling_? Slaves to our orders? No free will? This is what you _want_ us to be?”

“You have free will, don’t you?”

Lucifer pauses. “What?”

“Everything you did, and everything you do now, is your choice, Lucifer. You never _not_ have free will.”

Lucifer falls silent after that, and his father sighs again. “I never wanted the Apocalypse. Gabriel is here, and so is Sam. I will go with them. You do not have to see me again.” Lucifer says.

“Lucifer-” His father hands him four rings. “Michael is in the Cage along with Castiel. Find them.”

“Why would Michael be in the Cage-” Lucifer turns, but his father is gone. Like always. He huffs his frustration, but pauses- if Michael is in the Cage- Lucifer stretches his wings a little, wincing at some of the scars being pulled. He takes the rings.

When Lucifer flew by the humans, minding their own business, the teenagers, the businessmen and women, the homeless, he was struck by the sudden thought to just strike them all dead. This planet- so beautiful, yet they destroy it with their wars and destruction- Lucifer suddenly wants his memory-less naivete back. It was so much easier to function that way, without a thousand scars, both physical and mental on him. His pain was all because of these humans.

But he can ignore them. He heads towards an empty field. Like the one he was shot in. Lucifer wonders of what happened to Zachariah and Naomi. Probably dead. If not, he will kill them himself.

 

A blinding light pulls Castiel out of his Cage-induced trance.

Dean finds something intricately familiar pulling at his grace. He opens his eyes.

“Lucifer?”

They look to each other, and to Lucifer again.

“So you did get Dean to say yes.” Lucifer looks impassively to Michael. Should they fight now? He does not care particularly for the humans, but if Michael wants to fight nothing can stop him. Perhaps if their father showed up. Lucifer would not expect that.

 

Lucifer is alive. Lucifer is alive. That one thought stops Dean from doing anything but breath and stare. He remembers the feeling of Lucifer’s death rip through him, like a cold knife through the heart of his grace. Lucifer blinks as Michael steps up and embraces him. No knife to his stomach. Just- an embrace. Like _brothers_.

“I am Dean.” Dean mutters. Little brothers. Always taller than him, it seems. Except for Gabriel. Gabriel has always been a bit shorter. Heh.

“What do you-”

“I’ll explain later, Luce. C’mon.” Dean takes Lucifer and takes off, pulling a stunned Cas with him.

 

“No Apocalypse, then?” Lucifer asks later, when Michael explained it all to him, him being Dean- his relationship with Castiel- everything.

“No Apocalypse. No more destroying humanity?”

Lucifer pauses, and nods. “No more destroying humanity. But that does not mean I don’t want to.”

“As long as you don’t act on it we’re cool.”

“Of course.” Lucifer stands. “I’ll go look for Gabriel, then.” Dean shares an uneasy look with Castiel, but Lucifer is gone by then.

“Should we follow him?” Cas asks. Dean nods, pulling Cas into a full kiss first, pouring as much of his grace into Cas’s tattered grace.

“You prayed to me.” Dean asks when they break apart. “You _prayed_ to me- God, Cas-”

“My apologies.” Castiel’s voice is tired and rough- “But you did run off on me, I believe-”

“Sorry bout that-” Dean pulls Cas closer, and kisses him again. “Promise not to leave again, Cas.”

Castiel could not say in words what he felt when he was pulled out of the Cage. Or what he felt when he saw Lucifer, who has to be dead unless God brought him back. But all he knows now is that there is no Apocalypse- that Dean is back and that Dean is his-

 

“Shit!” Dean swears suddenly. “We gotta go get Lucifer- Gabriel-”

They take off.

 

\------------------------

 

"Well, this is a strange and awkward reunion." Gabriel gestures wildly to every one of them. Dean gaping at him. Sam gaping at Dean. Lucifer standing there.

Castiel also standing there, trenchcoat flapping awkwardly in the wind. Bobby half standing in the wheelchair, almost healed by Anna, who is fortunately not here right now. Jo and Ellen with shotguns pointed at every one of them. 

"Why don't we sit down and explain everything, kids?" His voice is light, but Gabriel is probably going to pass out soon if he does not sit down. He conjures a candy bar. It's probably the low blood sugar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end!!!
> 
> Dean and Cas still thinks that Gabe is dead. Lucifer does not know cause he didn't feel Gabe get stabbed in his 'diminished' state.
> 
> God brought Lucifer back.


	37. The long way home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! After all these months this fic is finally finished! I hope this ending is relatively satisfying, but open-ended enough that you can all keep imagining about the boys and their Angels and their lives after this fic. :) 
> 
> Thank you!

The motel room is packed. ]

“So get _this_ -” Sam blurts out, once they’ve all sat down and Gabriel has snapped up an ‘Intervention’ sign. “How are you all still-” He gestures, “Here?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s a _long_ story.” He looks down to the pillow he is holding, thanks to Gabriel- how his brother is alive is a mystery- but oh Father Dean is glad for it. That is when he felt it.

Gabriel and Lucifer exchanges a glance. They are attempting to reestablish their connection- not just between them, but between the Archangels. They have their own ‘channel,’ so to say. Their links has been broken ever since Lucifer rebelled. For the first time in millions of years the Archangels are together again. The links are reestablished. Dean can feel them all- Lucifer, Gabriel, Raphael.

A crack of thunder in the room. Raphael appears, in a female vessel this time.

“Sit down, Raph.” Gabriel grins. “Michael has the talk pillow now.”

Raphael frowns at him. “Why should I sit down? And Lucifer? How are you still-”

“Alive? Long story.” Lucifer gestures at Raphael. They got along quiet well when they were younger, even though Raphael spent more time alone.

“How are you still alive?” Dean takes a deep breath, looking straight to Gabriel. “I- I _stabbed_ you-” Lucifer leaps up and attacks Dean, causing both Gabriel and Sam to grab him and pull him back down while Dean sat there defeated, Raphael watching impassively and Castiel moving to defend Dean.

“Raph found me.” Gabriel shrugs. “I’m still alive, so let’s not make a big deal of this, right-”

“This _is_ a big deal!”

“Guys!” Sam shouts- one side, his brother, other side, Lucifer and Gabriel- whatever they are to him. He manages to push all the Angels down back onto the beds and that one couch.

“We-” Gabriel stands, pointing at them all. “Are all going to calm down, sort our respective _shit_ out, and talk this thing through like we _never did before_.”

Sam ends up taking the pillow from Dean, explaining how he banished Dean and ran off with Gabriel, ending up with both Gabriel and Lucifer until Gabriel disappears. He glosses over certain details, like the kiss or that night with Lucifer, but Dean’s cough, and Gabriel waggling his eyebrows lets Sam knows that damn- they are all Angels here and they can definitely _read his mind_. Sam blushes, rubbing the back of his neck.

Gabriel told pretty much the same story, quickly skipping over the part where Dean almost killed him, up until when Raphael let him out and he went off with Sam. Some people just can’t take a joke. Well, some Archangels. His brothers certainly did _not_ appreciate his humor.

Castiel tells them of finding out Dean was Michael far before any of them, sticking with him after some time- they had to force him to not go into any details, and Dean’s ears remains red. Cas’s plan to trap Dean- finding the rings, throwing himself in hell.

Dean tells them about finding out that he was Michael, being with Cas, getting banished twice by Sam, getting jumped by Cas right into Hell- the whole nine yards.

“Right, kids.” Gabriel snaps the furniture away after they’ve all finished, Lucifer grudgingly reconciling with Dean, Raphael leaving halfway through, Castiel falling asleep on Dean’s shoulder. Sam and Dean falls right on the ground while all the Angels remain standing.

“Therapy session is over!”

“Fin-fucking-ally.” Dean declares, grabbing Cas and puffing away.

“Rude much!” Gabriel shouts to his back, grinning. Sam ends up dragging Lucifer and Gabriel back out of the room and into their car, and the night sky is brighter and clearer than ever. There is still a long way to go, but, for the time being, everything is just fine.

 

* * *

 

Epilogue: God and Death

“You are a strange, strange creature.” The thin, dark haired man looks to the bearded man in front of him, as they opposite each other at the restaurant, food at hand. The man- God, to be exact, shrugs. “And so are your children.”

“I never expected that-” He waves his hand- “They would turn out this way. That things would turn out this way.”

“The Angels managed to surprise _God_?” Death sips at his drink. “You really should try this food, it truly is _heavenly_.”

“I suppose.” He shrugs. “I suppose.”

* * *

 

Epilogue: Everyone else. Raphael took over Heaven, eventually, but left most of the decision making to majority vote, or more competent Angels like Anna. It’s not that bad, he reckons, watching the movements of humanity and his brother’s quite entertaining road trip.

Michael and Castiel returns to Heaven from time to time, and so does Lucifer and Gabriel. They would always bring Samuel Winchester, who he had reluctantly accepted as a member of this family.

Anna goes back down to earth, stating that she can no longer stay in Heaven for long periods of time. She follows Jo and Ellen and they are quite the hunting team, along with Bobby, whose legs have completely healed with the help of the Angels.

* * *

 

Epilogue: Dean and Castiel “Where should we go now?” Dean asks, pulling Cas away from him, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. Okay, so his relationship with his angelic brothers may never be the same way again- he can work with that.

“Anywhere, Dean.” Castiel no longer cares whether Dean is Dean or Michael or both. They are lovers and they are happy and the Apocalypse is over and adverted.

“Anywhere it is then.” Dean grins. Lucifer did seem to be willing to talk to him back then, and Sam is as relieved as Dean expected. But for the time being everything is just fine and Dean is perfectly happy with that.

* * *

 

Epilogue: Sam, Lucifer and Gabriel. Sam, Lucifer, and Gabriel ended up going on a road trip, courtesy of Sam. Ushering two Archangels into a car is no mean feat, but he manages. Long days of driving around-

Sam pulling the Archangels into coffee shops and libraries, Gabriel transporting him around different eras of time, Lucifer sending them straight back to times when humans did not exist.

At the end of the day Sam would lie there on the motel room bed, with his Angels with him and he’s think- this is what a happy ending feels like.

 

 

THE END

 


End file.
